The In Between
by OutlawQueenLuvr
Summary: Missing Year Fic: Regina groans, pushing herself off the ground. Tiny cuts on her palms sting, mud stains the cream night gown she wasn't very fond of anyway. Leaves and twigs embed in her hair. She's stuck, somewhere in the in between, without her Henry, without her everything. Grief and sorrow call all her attention, and she doesn't see the hooded man stalking her from the trees.
1. Chapter 1

AN: A Missing Year fic that delves into Regina's struggle to survive in the Enchanted Forest without Henry. As days go by, she meets someone who reminds her that there are still things worth living for, even if she's too stubborn to see that two of those _things _are right in front of her.

Previously a prequel to All a Matter of Time, but now this story is a stand alone multi chapter fic.

XOXO, Jess

* * *

_Old and New_

Regina feels the familiar pull of the corset suffocating her, the sharp edges of the diamonds adorning her neck, the high collar of her regal gown choking her. She shuts her eyes tight, yet tears still escape out the corners leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. Regina releases a shaky breath, clenching and unclenching her left fist at her side while her right is desperately clinging to her stomach. It's flat and hollow. And, although it has never felt the flutter of new life or a first kick, her heart still aches to hold the child she raised. It breaks for the son she rocked to sleep, whose fears she calmed, runny noses she wiped, and scraped knees she kissed.

Regina's tears flow freely now. She bites her bottom lip to stop it from trembling, blocks out the muffled voices of those she'd cursed before, vaguely aware of the wind lightly agitating the feathers in her hair.

She's angry she's here with the two idiot Charmings and their idiot friends. Angry at the constricting clothes, which no longer seem to suit her. Angry her beautiful son no longer remembers her. Angry that Emma has precious, treasured memories she created with _her _baby. Angry she can already feel loneliness seeping its way back in. But mostly, she's heartbroken and dreads looking upon the faces of everyone except for the person she needs to see most.

No amount of time is short or long enough for a mother to miss her child, and Regina, barely seconds away yet worlds apart, misses Henry desperately.

"Regina?" Snow's soft voice and gentle hand at her elbow jars her out of her grief and sorrow, and, immediately, she squares her shoulders, her walls and mask fly back up again.

They stand in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by familiar, dense, towering trees, and pine, and dirt, and a scent she can only describe as home.

It's been 29 years since she's been here, stood on this ground, in this land, with these people. Twenty-nine years since she's worn these clothes or been forced to carry herself this tall and rigid because of a corset. Things could not be farther from what she knows or knew.

"Regina?" Snow repeats and swallows the saliva pooling in her mouth. "You're okay. We're going to be okay." But the weariness in Snow's voice isn't convincing, and Regina lets out a broken laugh that quickly turns into a silent sob.

"No, dear," Regina says. "I seriously doubt that."

Not long ago, Regina remembers smugly sneering as Snow wept over a bleeding Charming and the loss of her newborn, barely minutes old. She thought she'd won then, that the years she'd spent seeking revenge on the girl who'd cost her the love of her life had finally given her what she'd always wanted. But, even a town fabricated out of her wishes and desires hadn't been enough.

She thinks back to lonely nights, haunted by nightmares and most of them about that day in the stable. About a heart turning into dust and slipping through the cracks of her mother's hand. About the thunderous beating of nameless tokens stolen from the chests of countless victims. Each terror the same, and each woke her with the sound of a strangled cry escaping her lips. She'd frequently tremble and shake in the darkness of her big, lonely room in her big, lonely mansion with her mother's voice echoing in her head.

_Weak. Disappointing. Worthless._

Regina sighs and for a brief second her grief cracks its way through the emotional barrier she just tried to build, and she grimaces.

Everything changed the moment she'd found Henry, after she held him in her arms and rubbed circles on his tummy with her thumb, as his eyes blinked up at her unfocused. She fell in love with him instantly. This tiny little person, with tiny little toes and fingers needed her, and, if she'd been open to it, she would've realized she desperately needed him just as much, if not more.

It has been 29 years since she has been here, stood on this ground, in this land, with these people. The tables have turned, and she has lost everything.

No longer the Evil Queen, but also, not quite yet just Regina. She's stuck, somewhere in the in between, without her Henry, without her _everything_.

She tries to reel in the onslaught of emotions and buries them deep within herself as she does most things.

She hoards it away in a place where long ago, a young girl desperately sought refuge after the murder of her first love. Where tears are collected and stored, long forgotten and away from the prying eyes of a Mother consumed by power and cruelty. Where late night beatings and the memory of one unforgivingly sharp ring rips through her upper lip and leaves a scar. She buries it within the hollows of her soul, past the point of feeling to a place where numbness builds barriers and protects hearts, or at least the pieces not already marred and tainted pitch black.

She knows she must look pitiful, and sad, and angry. Snow's voice drips with sympathy, and it interrupts her internal battle. She quickly pushes down her emotional cluster fuck and only feels well and truly pissed.

With stinging, blurred eyes, Regina spares a glance at the two said idiots, and chooses to only show shadows of her former self – the Evil Queen – not ready to let go of walls she built after Daniel's death to protect her broken, bleeding heart.

"Regina, please," Snow begs and smiles, still infuriatingly optimistic. Her hair is long again, and it calls back to the years they spent warring in the Enchanted Forest. Charming and his bloodstained shirt hover comfortingly behind Snow.

"What do you want from me, Snow?" This time Regina's words aren't as sharp, or biting, and a part of her wishes they had been.

Maybe then she wouldn't sound as defeated as she feels.

"I just …" Snow stops, slightly frowning, barely at the beginning of her thought, and looks beyond her shoulder.

It's only then, Regina notices two strangers a few feet away from them.

"Snow," Aurora says. "What happened?"

"We're back," Snow's voice cracks.

"Yes, dear," Regina says, rolling her eyes. It comes out harsher than she meant. But she knows she has sounded worse, been worse, done worse. Really she has never been one to ask for forgiveness, why should she start now?

Her anchor, her tether is gone. Henry is gone. Her baby is gone, and she's tempted to slip back into old habits. Tempted to lay them all flat with a wave of her hand. Tempted to disappear in a cloud of purple and listen to her head, which shouts for her to run and pretend she doesn't care.

The problem is, she does, so instead Regina gulps down her sorrow, steals away her heart, as she has done since that fateful day in the stables, and does not cry.

Too dazed by their grief and fear and wary of what they'll find upon returning home, neither Regina, Snow, Charming or the other residents of their town notice a man slip away at the back of the group into the depths of the forest.

An hour later, the sun settles high above them in the mid afternoon sky, a few clouds paint the warm but pleasant air. The forest is alive with the sound of chirps, rustling of bushes, crunching of leaves, hooting of birds.

Regina presses her forehead to the neck of the Chestnut mare she's saddling. She breathes in the lingering scent of sweat, grain, dust, molasses, and hay, as she runs her hands up and down the beast's neck. She leans away.

No longer confined within the Evil Queen's full regalia, Regina wears familiar form-fitting leather pants, black boots, and a deep-cobalt riding coat. It's velvet, cut low on her chest, revealing the subtle rise and fall of her breasts as her every breath seems to be a struggle. She shakes her head thinking about Snow's naïve plans for their future.

"_The castle doesn't belong to her. It was Snow's before she took it." Charming's tone is high and mighty, and Regina is quick to squash it._

"_Well, to be fair," Regina smirks, "I married into it."_

"_That you did," Snow says. "And, now, we're taking it back, and you're coming with us." Snow pauses for a moment at the look of disbelief on Regina's face, then continues on. "I know you don't like it, you'll learn to, for our good, for yours."_

_There's no time for Regina's response because Charming puts his hand on the small of her back and ushers her forward like a child. She isn't ready to accept yet that Snow and Charming might actually care for her._

Regina rolls her eyes and finishes saddling the mare.

Henry would be delighted if he could see her now, _slumming_ with the _unCharming_s, and it simultaneously brings a smile to her face and breaks her heart.

"You're thinking about Henry, aren't you?" Snow sneaks up behind her.

"I'm always thinking about Henry." Regina is quick to answer.

"I know it hurts now, Regina, but it'll get easier."

Her response is fast.

"That's easy for you to say." Regina feels her anger rage to the surface. "You still have your prince. I've just lost my son!"

And Snow's response is infuriatingly patient.

"I know exactly how you're feeling. I've just had to say goodbye to my daughter for the second time, Regina. You're not the only person who has lost someone. I lost Henry, too."

It's the hoarseness in Snow's otherwise gentle voice that makes Regina look at her and away from the saddle she just secured.

There's another retort on the tip of her tongue, but she can't bring herself to say it. As much as she loathes admitting it, Snow is right.

And, even more loathsome, Regina finds she isn't as quick to anger every time Snow speaks to her. Although, she'll die before she ever tells her that.

Things between them have changed since Neverland.

"Come on," Snow says. "Charming wants us at the front of the group to lead everyone to the castle."

"You can't be serious." Regina's eyebrows rise.

"Regina, everyone's scared. We need to give our people hope. What better way to do that than lead together as one united front?" Snow looks at her with the same optimistic, doe-eyed expression she has seen since the day they met.

"Aren't we just one happy family?" Regina bites back and slips one of her gloves onto her right hand.

It annoys her that she can't just use magic to move them all to the castle. She only has to think about it, and they would all be there. She could save herself the undoubted relentless nagging Snow is about to pester her with on their journey. But, as much as this land is home, it is also strange and unfamiliar, and they don't know what could be waiting for them on the other side of a swish of her wrist and a cloud of purple.

"Yes, well, we're all we have left," Snow says. "Best to make the most of it."

The princess' words make Regina flinch, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she pulls on her other glove and pushes past her stepdaughter.

**Disclaimer: Not mine, I owe my OutlawQueen obsession to the creative minds of Adam and Eddy.**


	2. Chapter 2

A Runaway Horse and a Flying Arrow

Regina's calves burn after walking for hours. Her neck muscles ache, strained by the unfamiliar weight of her long-again hair, and mud has built up on the bottom of her boots. The trees tower over her. Sunlight flickers across her face through gaps in the branches above. Dried pine needles crunch under her steps, a humidity clings to the air around their small company of misfits, rebels, dwarves and royalty, and she lets out a dark chuckle.

Since Emma's arrival three years ago, not a moment passes that isn't filled by fire, or life-threatening portals, or the return of a manipulative Mother thought long dead. Falsely accused of murdering the Cricket, tortured by Greg – Owen – another ghost, another victim from her past. Chasing through Neverland after Lost Boys and a demon dressed as a boy, saving Henry, just to lose him again.

Never a moment to breathe. Never a moment to process. Just one thing after another, and now it seems she has too much time to revisit old wounds and pour salt in them.

She's finds it quite comical really, in a sick and dark way, that she's traipsing through the forest with the rabble, on their way to live in their castle, together, like one _happy_ family.

One twisted, messed up family.

When she was just a girl, all Regina wanted was to feel at home, to be loved by her mother and her father, to be accepted for who she was and not whom her mother wanted her to be.

Placing one foot after the other, Regina stops paying attention to the friendly conversations around her and disappears into her memories.

"_Why do you always have to criticize me?" A seventeen-year-old Regina asked with a sad smile._

"_I'm not criticizing you. I'm helping you." Cora's hands clasped together, she balked as her insolent daughter started toward the stables. "Don't you walk away from me." Cora said, hoisting Regina up in a vice like grip._

"_Mother. You know I don't like it when you use magic." The young girl struggled against invisible bindings._

"_And I don't like insolence." Cora tightened her grip. "I'll stop using magic, when you start being an obedient daughter."_

"_Why can't I just be myself?" Regina said, exasperated._

"_Because you can be so much more. If you'd just let me help you," Cora crooned._

"_I don't care about status. I just want to be – " But Regina's voice was cut off as her mother lifted her higher into the air, tied her arms down with the bridle she'd just taken off Rocinante._

Regina wipes sweat off her brow and looked up ahead for a moment. Snow and Charming still lead the group, hands held sickly sweet between the two of them. She remembered shaking as she pleaded for her mother to let her go. Promised she'd be good. Later, she galloped back to the hill she and Daniel always met at to get away from her mother's prying eyes. Daniel had been so tentative and caring, wanted them to picnic at Firefly Hill. Regina wishes she could say her next choice would've been made differently had she known what would happen a few days later. But she knew her decision would've been the same. She still would have shaken her head no and told Daniel she only had an hour.

"_Tea time. A lady never misses her tea time." Regina said and shrugged her shoulders with a certain hint of sarcasm that only comes from rolling your eyes at "how to be a lady" lessons._

"_This is absurd. Stealing kisses between lunch and tea." Daniel walked away from her._

"_It's her." Regina pleaded, no need to clarify she meant her mother. He already knew._

And, it really had been Cora. Regina always balanced on the edge of loving and fearing her mother, seeking after her affection and craving her approval while also feeling equally disappointed in the fact that Cora couldn't accept the real her.

"_She thinks one's trajectory needs to keep moving up and – "_

"_And I'm down." Daniel said, Regina rushed to him._

"_She believes that. Daniel, I know better." Her hands rubbing his arms reassuringly._

"_Regina, tell her. She'll get over it. What can she do?" His voice is weary from secret, midnight meetings by their tree, stolen glances when no one else is looking, the sassy remarks he has to put up in order to fool Cora._

"_Have you not seen her magic?" Regina asks. "The real question is 'What can't she do?'"_

"_Who cares about magic?" Daniel said, naively. "True love is the most powerful magic of all. It can overcome anything."_

Except for death. True love could overcome anything except for death.

_Regina's attention immediately drew away from Daniel when she heard a girl's distressed scream._

"_Help! Somebody help me!" A horse cut through the meadow, a girl clinging helplessly on its back. Regina ran to Rocinante and swiftly lifted herself up, taking off at a gallop even before her second foot had been in the stirrup._

She could still feel the wind in her hair, the tug on her wrist as she pulled Snow off the horse. They were both out of breath, Snow half sitting, half lying on the ground, Regina crouched in front of her, holding each other's hands.

She could still remember the words that easily flowed out of her mouth. How her first reaction had been to comfort and assuage the trembling girl's fears.

"_It's okay, dear, you're safe," her younger self said with a smile that could pierce the darkest of nights._

"_You saved my life." Shock and awe on the little girl's face._

"_Are you alright?" Regina asked._

"_Yes. But I'll never ride again."_

"_Nonsense. The only way to overcome fear is to face it. To get back on that horse as soon as possible," Regina said, laughing and lightly shaking her head._

"_Thank you," the girl said, breathlessly._

"_Regina," she introduced herself, kind and bright and hopeful._

"_I'm Snow. Snow White."_

They hugged after that. And, if Regina had the gift of foresight, she would have known that hug would be her downfall.

Leroy bumps into Regina as she slows her pace and says, "watch yourself, sister," but she isn't paying attention, still trapped within distance memories, stuck in one of the worst days of her life.

"_My dear Snow has many things, but a mother is not one of them. We lost her years ago," King Leopold said. If Regina hadn't been looking at the king, she would've seen the right corner of her mother's lip twitch upward._

"_I'm so sorry," Regina said._

"_Since then I have scoured the land looking for a wife," the King said. "I have yet to find a woman with an interest in my daughter, until now."_

Taking a moment to think about it, Regina realizes that's when Leopold's intentions dawned on her, but she'd been helpless to prevent the end of her happiness. Instead she stood there frozen like a deer caught in headlights or a child in the way of an oncoming carriage.

Leopold had wrongly called her a woman. She herself had still been a child, a young girl of 17, and in love with someone else. Something the King hadn't even considered. Not that he cared. If he had, he would've seen her turn to her father for help or look to her mother to stop this from happening. He would've seen through her pained expression and not mistaken it for shock. But instead, he just thought she was a "common" girl like any other who dreamt of a life of royalty, of coronations and gowns. If he'd really truly seen her, he would've known that all she wanted was freedom and the right to choose.

Still wearing the dress her mother fabricated using magic and trickery, she ran to Daniel after that. She cried in his arms, tears staining his stable clothes.

"_The only way out of this is to run," she said, frantically. "For us to be married. For us to be out of this place. For us to never come back."_

"_Life with a stable boy is a far cry from a life as Queen." Daniel asked her if she understood what that would mean._

"_Being Queen means nothing." She cupped his face. "Daniel, all I care about is you."_

Regina meant it then, but words hadn't been enough. Their love hadn't been enough. When Snow stumbled upon her and Daniel kissing, Regina saw the devastation on her little face, the hurt in her eyes, and as Snow took off crying, Regina chased her. When Snow fell on the ground, Regina's first thought was to ask her if she was okay, to check for scraps and bruises. When Snow wept in confusion, Regina soothed away her tears.

Even then, she'd mothered that child. Before Leopold's wretched wedding ring was forced onto her finger, a symbol of her eternal prison, before the crown was placed heavily onto her head, she'd been concerned for Snow White.

"_Why were you kissing that man in the stable?" Snow hiccupped between words and breath. "You're to marry my father. You're to be my mother."_

"_Snow, hey." Regina touched her cheek and held her hand. "Listen to me. You're father, King Leopold, he's a kind and fair man. But I don't love him."_

"_I don't understand," Snow's brows set deep in misunderstanding and a little bit of anger. "Why not?"_

"_Love doesn't' work that way," Regina said, calming the girl by rubbing her thumb along her cheek, getting rid of remaining tears of her face. "Love. True love is magic. And not just any magic, the most powerful magic of all. It creates happiness."_

"_And that man in the stables, you love him?" Snow asked, beginning to understand._

"_With all my heart."_

They'd giggled over it, and then Regina convinced Snow not to tell. She realized now what kind of a responsibility she'd placed into the trust of another child. Someone who couldn't fully understand the severe consequences actions could have on the lives of others. What happened in the stables later hadn't just been Snow's fault. It had also been hers.

"_You're impossible to talk to," Regina pleaded with her mother. "Stop with the magic and listen to me. I want to be with Daniel."_

"_Oh. You don't know what you want. But I do," Cora said, patronizingly. "I didn't make the sacrifices I did in life to get you to the cusp of greatness, so that you could end up the wife of a stable boy."_

"_It's my life," Regina pointed at her chest and took a step away from Daniel._

"_Oh. You foolish girl. It's mine," Cora began to advance toward her. "After what I had to do, the deals I had to make to get us out of poverty, to get us this life. And you just want to toss it away?"_

_Daniel entwined his fingers with Regina's._

"_You're magic can't keep us apart. I love him," she shouted._

"_And I love her," Daniel stated._

"_And I love her, too," Cora spit._

And that's what made that night all so tragic. Cora, and Daniel, and even Snow loved her. They all loved her and wanted what was best for her, acting on her behalf, because they believed their decisions were in her best interest.

"_If you loved me, you wouldn't try to keep us apart." Tears formed in Regina's eyes and the rage she'd been feeling toward her mother's oppression bubbled to the surface._

"_And if you loved me, you wouldn't try to run away." Cora held her ground._

"_I'm sorry, but this is my happiness." Regina gripped Daniel's hand more firmly. "We're going."_

"_No. You're not." Her mother lifted up her hand then. A small show of magic was all it took._

"_So what's your plan? You're going to keep us here forever? Because that's what you'll have to do." Daniel slowly slid his hand up her arm to lend her his strength and support._

That's when Regina witnessed something change in her mother's eyes. She thought it was the realization that she'd have to let her and Daniel go. But. She was wrong.

"_So this is your decision? This will make you happy?" Cora brought her hands together and squared her shoulders._

"_It already has," Regina smiled._

"_Then who am I to stop you?"_

"_Thank you, Mother." Regina took the remaining steps toward Cora and hugged her, putting a large distance between herself and Daniel for just a moment, but a moment was all it took._

"_Daniel… if you want to have a life together, a family, then there's one important lesson I can impart on you." Cora left Regina's side, her daughter at her back now and the stable boy right where she wanted him. "It's what it means to be a parent. You always have to do what's best for your children."_

"_Thank you. I understand," Daniel said, looking over Cora's shoulder at a smiling Regina, overjoyed at what they both thought was her mother's acceptance. "Because that's what you're doing now," he posited._

"_Yes. It is."_

_The rest happened too quickly. Regina screamed and collapsed on the ground next to Daniel, touched his face, desperately pressed True Love's Kiss against his nonresponsive mouth as tears streamed down her face and her vision blurred._

"_You have to trust me Regina. I know best." Cora's chilly voice no longer familiar to her, a stranger, a murderer preyed over her and her now dead fiancé. "Love is weakness, Regina. It feels real now. At the start, it always does. But it's an illusion. It fades. And then you're left with nothing. But power, true power endures. And then you don't have to rely on anyone to get what you want. I've saved you, my love."_

"_You've ruined everything," Regina shouted, fury embracing her into its welcome arms. "I loved him! I loved him!"_

"_Enough. I've endured this long enough." Cora roughly jerked her daughter off the ground. "Now clean yourself up. Wipe away your tears. Because now, you're going to be Queen."_

Regina's pace must have slowed again because someone, another dwarf, pushes forcefully past her, and she's forced out of her memories.

They're still walking through the Enchanted Forest, still trekking their way to her castle. Regina looks ahead of herself instead of down at the ground as she walks, and she rolls her eyes at Snow who's making her way toward her. Regina sheds no tears, but she knows pain and grief and sorrow betray her.

"Regina, come on," Snow says, pausing in her footsteps to wait for the Queen. She's been watching her. "Where'd you go? You look like you're so far away." The concern on the princesses' face rips through thinly veiled nostalgia and drags her back into the past again.

"_No. I'm not mad at all." Regina said to the little girl looking up at her pleadingly. "You were just trying to help me. However, I'm not marrying Daniel. This dress is for your father."_

"_But I thought you were in love," Uncertainty and hope in Snow's voice._

"_So did I. But I was wrong. Daniel has run away." Regina stood taller, her mask drawn up. "What I had with Daniel wasn't real. It was an infatuation. See that's the thing about love. It can come in the most unexpected places. Your father and I have something even more special. Because it's not just about the two of us. It's about all of us. We're going to be a family."_

"_We are?" Snow smiled._

"_That's right. I'm going to be your stepmother and I couldn't be happier," Regina lied._

"_Me, too," Snow said._

"Regina," an adult Snow gently tugs on her arm. "Please. I've been watching you. There has to be something you can still hold onto, some hope." Snow smiles. "At least we're all together."

Regina's heart spasms painfully in her chest, thinking about the incessant nagging that awaits her on this journey. Snow is anything if not relentless. Her steps falter, and she digs her boots into the ground. The mere thought of Snow's comforting, hopeful presence day in and out makes her hands sweat, her mouth run dry, and her stomach churn.

Snow tries to touch her.

"Snow… stop," Regina brushes off her hand.

"It'll be alright, Regina. You'll see," the princess still smiles, optimistically.

"Stop." Phantoms of Daniel's pale face still linger in her mind like the sting of a scab she keeps reopening.

"I know how you're feeling," Snow continues. "You have to find a way to be happy."

"Snow, stop." Regina clenches her teeth and her hands start to shake, holding in the rage and magic trying to force its way to the surface.

"You have to find a way," she nods encouragingly.

And, the Queen explodes.

"I can't! Haven't you been paying attention?" Regina looks about, her arms gesturing out and around them wildly. "I have nothing left. At first, it was Daniel, then, it was my freedom, then my father to the curse I cast to bring me back my happiness! And, now, Henry! I can't live without Henry! He was _everything_, all I had left, and now he's gone. And the worst part is he doesn't even remember me, and I gave your – " she sharply pokes Snow in the shoulder once, "spoiled," twice, "daughter," three times, "all of my memories."

Snow flinches after each jab. Regina's hand falls, dangles limply at her side.

They've drawn the attention of everyone around them. Charming comes running up behind Snow. Of course, he jumped to her rescue, Regina thinks.

"But, Regina, why would you do that?" Snow stutters, confusion and shock war over her face. Her brows set deep.

"Because…" Regina says, she throws her hands in the air. Snow's relentless pestering exhausts her, she lets another burst of emotion slip, exasperated her hands rest on the top of her head, where she grips her hair before letting her hands take their place at her sides. A lonely tear slips down Regina's cheek.

"Just because Henry _can't_ remember me…" Regina puts extra emphasis on _can't_, shakes her head, and swallows the lump in her throat. "Doesn't mean he should lose all our good memories. Every trip for chocolate ice cream, every fit of laughter spurred by a tickle fight, nights spent reading chapters out of Huckleberry Finn, afternoons spent kissing away bruises and calming fears."

Another tear escapes the hold of her eyelashes.

"Camping out in our backyard under the stars, early Saturday mornings snuggled in my bed together when he was still young enough to want to cuddle with me, before he thought of me as the Evil Queen." Regina's arms wrap around her middle, she pulls the heavy cloak tighter against her body. "I'm not selfish enough to keep those from him. Those little moments. They make Henry, Henry. Only now, instead of me, it'll be Emma who smoothed Band-Aids over his cut knees and mothered his pain away."

"Oh, Regina…" Snow tries to touch her stepmother, but knows almost instantly it's a mistake.

"Don't touch me!" Regina recoils, overly aware of how much she's shared with Snow, with _everyone_ standing around her, eyes filled with pity. "How many times do I have to say it?"

She stalks off into the woods, away from Snow, away from Charming, away from eyes, and ears, and pity. Charming goes to stop her, but his wife stays his hand.

"No, I'll go," Snow says, "Just give us a minute." She starts to walk past him, but then stops and says, "On second thought, it might be while." Snow smiles weakly at her Charming.

She finds Regina roughly 30 paces off the path, and the way she's leaning against a tree, clinging to the bark like her life depends on it, terrifies her. Snow has never seen her so broken before. No matter what has happened, no matter what life has thrown at her, Regina has always been strong and resilient, but this person shaking with grief and anger isn't that same woman anymore. She's a shadow of her former self, finally cracking under the many burdens she carries. Snow is sure that if she could see Regina's heart through her chest, she'd find it's tarnished with fissures and deep, gaping crevices, ready to split apart.

Regina knows it's Snow's footsteps behind her without turning around. She's the only one who would dare after the spectacle she made of herself in front of the others. She thinks Charming might have come, he seems keen to protect her since he witnessed her first emotional outpour after he said they needed to put Daniel down, gun at the ready, hand on the stall door.

"Go away, Snow," Regina says, her voice tired and heavy. "What more could you possibly want from me?"

She's not sure what causes it, but Regina is startled when a sudden bout of courage seizes Snow, and she grabs Regina's arms, pulling her away from the tree and spinning her around.

"No, you listen to me," Snow's eyes burn, dark and stormy into hers before returning to normal, gentle orbs. Regina's not quite sure what she sees reflected there. "A long time ago, you saved my life. Please, let me try and save yours."

Regina doesn't know what to say, her jaw slack and mouth agape, she wants to counter, bite back, but she knows now that Snow probably sees the same thing she's been trying to fight against all day but failing at – defeat. Her pause gives Snow the time she needs to continue, as long as she has Regina's attention, she's going to take what she can get.

"You know, you're the one who showed me that true love exists," Snow says, her eyes glisten. "No one had ever told me about it before. You're also the one who showed me that there can be a genuine, selfless connection between people, even strangers. That day that you risked your life to save mine, you taught me about second chances –" Snow's cut off by Regina's shaky voice.

"I'm way past my second chance, Snow," Regina's eyes penetrate hers.

"I know that's what you _think_, Regina, but as long as you keep breathing, you will _always_ have _another_ second chance, you just have to believe. That's the beauty of it. Right now your heart might be causing you pain, but I promise you it will let you feel something else soon enough."

"And what's that?" Regina blinks, her shoulders slump in feigned resignation.

"The one thing Henry always wanted for you – happiness," Snow smiles.

"That doesn't seem possible," Regina counters. "I can't be happy without him."

"Find a way," Snow pauses, "And, Regina." Snow drops her arms and smiles at her. "I know Emma's not here to do this, but, if she were, I know she'd say the same thing I'm about to."

"Which would be?" Regina tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, eyelids heavy and puffy from angry tears.

"Thank you," Snow's smile is weak, but it's genuine, her words shock Regina's eyes open. "For what you did for her and Henry, and thank you for what you did for me."

"What exactly did I do for you, other than try to kill you on multiple occasions?" Regina says, smoothing out the wrinkles in her cloak and fixing her riding gloves.

Snow chuckles.

"You, more than anymore, know I wasn't always this _frustratingly _optimistic. You taught me how to be like that," Snow says, smirking.

"Oh, God," Regina says, rolls her eyes, pushes past her and walks back to the path and company they left behind.

They walk in silence until they make camp. What little supplies Aurora and Phillip were able to give them, everyone uses to set up makeshift sleeping areas. It's not shocking Regina chooses to be further away from the group, her tent closer to the canopy of the trees than the small patch of open field most huddle on together.

Snow's words still echo in her head as she sits on a log. She promised Henry she wouldn't use magic unless necessary or for the benefit of others. She chooses to believe the brush she just called into existence is for the well-being of others. She runs it through her hair, untangling knots and small leaves before settling her hands into her lap, unmoving save for the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes.

Regina swallows down grief and puts on a mask she wears often.

Cold. Indifferent. She knows she can't do it for long though, her veil is slowly slipping.

Snow and Charming call an impromptu council meeting that night, and Regina quickly realizes why she never allowed anyone else to speak around her table. There are far too many voices inside the tent, carefully considering potential risks of storming the castle. None of them know what condition it's in, other than it still stands. Neal tells them his father's castle was ransacked and occupied by new tenants after the dark curse. He points out they don't know what's waiting for them at Regina's castle.

"I protected it. No one can get in, unless I say so," Regina's voice is stern and sharp.

Snow and Charming think they should all go together. Regina thinks she should go alone. Many think their opinions matter to her, but they don't. Ultimately, the relatively easy life these people led as their cursed selves in Storybrooke bred a culture of impatience among them, and they veto most of Regina's suggestions, because most of them still don't trust her. Not that she blames any of them.

They've lived a quiet existence for so long, in a town where the most they had to worry about before the curse broke was which one of five menu options could they order from at Granny's. Many forget the dangers posed in the Enchanted Forest. However, the possibility of the castle being a safe haven from the elements is too great a temptation. Against Regina's wishes and advice, the council votes to travel to the castle together first thing in the morning.

Back out in the fresh, forest air, Regina lifts her cloak higher off the ground and sits down on a log in front of their crackling camp fire. Its embers hot and cutting in the moonlight. Her back is stiff from the last eight hours she has been wearing this corset. She knows once she takes it off her body will sigh in relief. To her chagrin, Snow finds a place next to her.

"You're thinking about Henry again, aren't you?" Snow smooths out the bottom of her dress.

"You already asked me that, and I already told you," Regina sighs deeply and breathes in the smell of musky smoke, and sizzling sap, and popping pine needles.

She leans forward and tosses in another dry, withered log. The timber sets the fire ablaze, releasing whispered hisses and the intoxicating smell of years and years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the ground around it. Regina closes her eyes and lets yellow and orange kaleidoscopes dance across her eyelids as the heat washes over her, "rosy"ing up her cheeks. Sitting on this dark, log bench, in the cold, dark Enchanted Forest, her ears and nose perk up, focusing on every little sound and smell around them.

"I'm always thinking about Henry. But no, I was actually thinking about how I'd trade a bra and pant suit for this – " Regina motions toward her attire. "Any day."

"Personally, I'd give anything for indoor plumbing –" Snow stops to slap away a mosquito that just bit her on the neck. "And bug spray."

They both pause to look at each other as Leroy shouts to Charming that he's walking to the "_girls' side of the forest to take a piss_." It's dark so they can't see it, but they're sure Charming is blushing. Both women laugh, tears leaking out the corners of their eyes.

If she had a choice, Regina never would've come back to the Enchanted Forest. The land overflows with memories of her being a prisoner, of her hurting people, of her choosing darkness over light in order to protect herself from getting hurt again.

No, Storybrooke was the only _true_ place she ever called home, and she quite enjoyed her modern conveniences.

"My espresso machine," Regina says. "I used to make myself a shot every morning before – " Regina frowns. "Before Henry awoke, then I would make him breakfast and pack his lunch."

A sad smile finds its way back to Regina's face again, and Snow knows she needs to keep distracting her, little by little, and as the sun rises and the sun sets, she's certain Regina's heart will start to heal.

"Tampons," Snow blurts, her face deadpanned.

"Excuse me?" Regina quirked her brow, a smile forming at the edge of her mouth.

"Tampons," Snow says, as if it is the most normal thing in the world. "I'll miss tampons."

"You can stop saying the word, tampons, Snow." Regina smirks, amused.

"Yes, well," the princess is back to fidgeting with her dress. "Can you blame me?"

Both women laugh again, the fire slowly simmers to a quiet glow, and they continue talking about sun screen, and cars, and cell phones, and electricity, sharing the things they'll miss, tiptoeing around what their hearts really crave – their children.

Most of their company is fast asleep in their tents already. The fire low and barely burning, the chirping of crickets fills the spaces between them when words don't flow freely. Finally, as the last log on the fire crumbles into ashes, Snow stands, yawns and looks down at Regina.

"I'll see you in the morning," Snow says, but also says so much more with knowing eyes.

Regina's eyes shift to her hands in her lap, Snow's hand pats them and stays on top of hers, it's meant to be comforting, but it only reminds her again of what she has lost. Regina swallows a lump in her throat and nods.

Before the sun rises, Regina reels out of bedroll, startled out of sleep by a nightmare. Sweat mats her hair to her face; her light, cream colored night gown sticks to her back. She pants into the darkness, her hand over her heart, clinking to the fabric that covers it, as if her life depends on it. It is quiet, and Regina is alone, so she lets her guard down for a moment, uses magic to create a sound barrier, and sobs, trembling and shaking.

Ever since she stepped back into this godforsaken forest, every poor choice, every mistake she made over the years keeps running through her mind. They bombard her like moths to a flame, make her flinch, as Greg Wendell's whispered "_villains never get happy endings_" scratch through her ears.

She still feels the current of burning, ripping electricity as it tears through her body at full power, as muscles seize and back bends at an odd, broken angle, as teeth clench unwillingly, wrists fight against restraints. The metal table Greg strapped her down to was no different than the abuse at her mother's hand, or the crown, and castle, and title that enslaved her to Leopold and a life without love. Each felt cold, and hard, and left her alone and tormented. Each a prison forced upon her.

Images of black wraiths, crushed hearts, the face of an old, possessive King often plague her. She fought for so long against nightmares that stole her away from sleep. She learned to push them down into the catacombs of her mind, but tonight, the monsters, she thought gone, remind her that they always linger just below the surface, ready to terrorize her out of slumber and into the land of the living. Usually, when she wakes, she's able to force poisonous thoughts and unwanted memories out of her mind, but tonight she finds she's not sure which is worse – her dreams, or her reality.

Regina's strangled cries wrack her body, and she's overwhelmed by the need to run. With only a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she hastily stumbles out of her tent and into the crisp and unforgiving air, her breath captured in wisps of white. She leaves the group, barefoot and shaken, her eyes wild, an hour before the sun crests the mountains to the east.

Regina runs quietly through the trees, hair bouncing on her back, wind of her own making whipping strands of it around her face. Her hands and feet sting from the biting morning, but she doesn't stop, can't run fast enough or far enough to escape the haunting nightmare that pulled her awake. She can't erase the image of Henry's heartless body lying on the ground, Pan mocking her and her failure. Can't forget the agony she felt when she realized she killed her baby, cursed her sweet, precious son with a sleeping curse meant for the Savior. Can't ignore Daniel's face as he died in the stables a second time, gripping her arms painfully one minute as dust settled on the ground in the next. Can't get the nightmare out of her head where Henry didn't want her, didn't choose her time and time again.

She runs, and she runs, and she runs, the soles of her feet pounding on the ground, until an upturned root grabs her foot, and she collides with earth, and leaves, and gravel. A flock of birds fly out of a tree, startled and squawking. The wind is knocked out of her, she rolls over to catch her breath, her hair sprawled out around her.

The world is spinning, and spinning, and spinning. Regina closes her eyes. Just breathe, she says to herself, tears violently mingling with dirt and grim. Breathe and it'll be over soon. She gasps for breath between sobs, her tremors not as violent, and with a few more deep breaths, the world rights itself.

Regina groans as she pushes herself off the ground, tiny cuts on her palms sting, mud stains the cream night gown she wasn't very fond of anyway. Leaves and twigs embed in her hair. Last remnants of sleep long gone, Regina listens to the sounds of the forest echoing around her, and now that her heart has stopped hammering in her chest, she finally hears silence.

Stretching her neck, she walks stiffly. Regina already sore from sleeping on the hard ground, her muscles knot and tense. The twinge in her neck begins to subside. Although, aches and pains don't really bother her, she's used to them. It seems she spends most of her time getting knocked down or out by magic or by people nowadays. She welcomes the distraction, and she is relieved it makes her mind focus on a simple physical hurt rather than dwell on emotional agony, churning within her.

Regina's feet start moving again, following the man made path of a dirt trail. She wanders quietly. Her steps take her where she needs to go, while her mind is full of grief, shock and anger. If only it could just all end. What is the purpose of living without the only person that matters?

What will become of her life without her little prince?

Regina sees a haze of mist in the distance and as she rounds a path of trees, a small stream comes into view. Sinking onto a boulder beside the water, Regina leans forward and rubs her hands over her tired face, her knees are bruised. She sits for a long time, listening to the water as it washes over rocks and fallen branches, soothing undertones provide a reprieve from her inner turmoil. Her eyes drift shut, allows her mind to wander, but as much as she tries to prevent it, her thoughts always lead back to Henry.

She just needs a moment, a moment to grieve him, to grieve who she used to be, for dreams she used to have, for love lost, and happiness torn asunder, but it does not take a moment. She has lived a lifetime of tragedy and heartache. She needs days, and months, and years, and maybe decades. The pain is overwhelming with nothing to tether her, nothing to bring her back, no hope to hold onto.

Daniel is gone. Her father is gone. Henry is gone.

Snow's words echo against the inside of her skull.

"_Find a way_."

But, despite everything pointing to the contrary, Regina doesn't feel she can. This fate is worse than any curse she could have conjured, worse than any spell she could have cast. Her tears drip and stream down her face, each droplet off her chin greets the boulder with an audible thump, thump, thump.

"I'm sorry, Henry, but I don't think I can, not without you."

Regina slides off the concrete surface, thudding to her knees, she cries out again as sensitive skin and bone meet cold, wet ground. She slumps back onto her heels, her arms hugging around her middle, her head drops forward, chin on her chest. In a last ditch effort to retain control, she scrunches her eyes shut in the vain hope of blotting out the horrifying reality of her situation.

She's home, and Henry's lost to her forever. She gasps in stunning, desperate pain, and does the only thing she can think to do. Stabbing her hand into her chest, Regina welcomes the new wave of agony. She pulls her hand out, tightly holding her heart, and inside she grows hollow from its absence.

Her anguish doesn't dull as much as she thought it would, which frustrates her more.

A fallen stick the size of her forearm catches her eye, and, without thinking, she grabs it and begins to dig a hole.

* * *

He's tracking a deer through the woods in the wee hours of morning, laying down on a high enclave with his bow lined up for his shot. His men and son will feast tonight, be merry around firelight while he drinks golden ale and ponders over the new threat approaching from the west. He is about to release his arrow, when he hears crows screaming, their wings beating harshly against the air. Something disturbs his forest, and he has never been one to shy away from danger, so he slips down from his place among the trees, landing silently on his feet with bended knees.

A mist rolls in as he eventually spots what distracted him from his kill, or rather who distracted him. A woman stands on shaky legs, brushing dirt and mud from her hands and night shift. He is out of her eye line, blended in with the forest where he was raised from birth. It appears, she fell, but he is not quite sure why she is in the forest at such an hour, or why she is alone and hardly wearing anything.

He himself wears his cloak and heavy winter clothes. He knows it's freezing, yet she does not seem to mind. He watches, mulling over his next course of action – introduce himself or wait and see what she does next. His eyes wander over her body, she is petite, but the muscles in her arms tell him she is strong. Her hair is long, black like midnight and under the light of the moon and early morning sun, she looks ethereal.

He stares as she leans her head back and takes an audible breath, and as morning rays flicker through the trees and kiss her face, he notices she is crying. Surely, her beauty entrances him, but there is more. The woman could not be less than her late 20s, no more than her early 30s, and the sorrow he sees in her face steals his breath away. When she turns toward the river, he follows, many hours hunting taught him how to tread light footed between trees unnoticed.

For a moment, he loses sight of her, and his heart rate quickens, until he spies her again, only this time she is in a heap on the ground. To say her dress has ridden up slightly would be an understatement, for he sees the creaminess of her thighs just before fabric prevents him from seeing the rest. She whispers something, tears run down her cheeks and drip off the end of her nose. He observes her bare feet, and scraped up knees. Even though she is crying, she still holds herself high. And, there was a certain air about her while she was waltzing through the forest, defeated but also proud. He wonders if she is a lady or royal born, and, if so, where from. He has never seen her before, and she very quickly captivated him moving through the trees like a phantom.

He would very much like to take her in his arms and sooth whatever ails her, her heartbreak palpable. Bloody hell, he thinks. Where did that come from?

He makes up his mind, moves to take a step toward her, done with spying and intruding on intimate moments, when he stops dead in his tracks. Eyes wide and aghast, he sprints toward the woman now holding her heart in her hand, furiously digging a hole in the ground.

"Stop right there," he shouts, sliding down the hill on his heels. There is only one person he has heard of who can steal hearts out of the chests of men and women.

A man's voice catches Regina off guard, and she gasps. She quickly turns, heart in one hand, fireball ready in the other.

He pulls his bow from his back and notches an arrow. The sneer on her face creases a line between his brows. While following her, he had seen someone vulnerable and at prey to the shadows that lurked in the forest. Now, he sees he was mistaken. She is not the prey, she is the predator, her beauty and grace luring him in like the frogs he reminds his son not to play with, their color and their seemingly docile nature camouflaging their lethalness.

"How dare you!" Regina shouts.

"I have to warn you. Even if I were a terrible shot, which I'm not, this arrow never misses its mark." The hooded man stands a few feet away from her, staring. "Now, what are you doing?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Regina growls.

"That may be. However, I heard tale the Evil Queen returned, I didn't think I would stumble upon her alone in my forest." The man takes another step toward her, looking down at the heart she still holds in her hand.

"Go away," Regina spits, getting to her feet. Gods, she doesn't want this, doesn't need this. She hates this intrusion, this existence. She hates feeling. She just wants it all to stop.

"Why would you do that?" he asks, eyes honed in on her pulsating heart, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

Regina can't bring herself to look up, but she huffs a bitter laugh. Whoever he is, he obviously isn't afraid of her, and she is growing tired of his presence.

"You know who I am," Regina says haughtily, it isn't a question.

She watches as he nods once.

"Then, you know I don't answer to peasants," Regina snaps. Her voice is surprisingly steady considering her inner turmoil, and she looks away from him. "Now, go away."

"I'm sorry, M'lady, but I can't do that," he says, lowering his bow, he studies her.

Her hair falls loosely, wisps of it wild yet ever regal, the blanket she wrapped around her now haphazardly lies on the floor. The sleeve of her night shift is pulled down, collarbone and shoulder bare to him. Her eyes wide and bright from crying. She looks like a lioness, emotions tightly wound, caged within, ready to pounce. The stories of her beauty do not do her justice.

"You see, I have a duty to the people of this forest," he continues. "I promised long ago that I would offer help wherever it is needed. And, you, M'lady," he says, pointing toward the beating heart in her hand. "You clearly need it."

She is broken, and stunning, and he also knows she is dangerous, but right now he doesn't see the Evil Queen in front of him. Right now, he sees somewhat of a kindred soul. He remembers a time when he, himself, was someone desperate enough to rip out their own heart.

"And, what makes you think you know me so well?" Regina scoffs.

"Well, for one thing, I'd be charred to a crisp right now if I didn't," he motions to the fireball still alive in her hand.

Regina smirks at him and snuffs it out. He's bold. She'll give him that.

From that instance on, he feels possessed, a desperate yearning swells in him to comfort her, to protect her from herself. Where has this come from? He shakes his head. It is all madness, he thinks, until he looks into her eyes once again.

"Maybe," Regina says, her voice hoarse from sobbing. "Now go before I change my mind."

"How I wish I could, M'lady." He walks up to Regina until he is a couple feet from her and stops, his eyes bright with resolve. "But, I do not believe I can walk away until you return that," he points to her heart. "Back to where it belongs."

"It's better this way," she says, shaking her head, her steely-eyes fierce and penetrating.

"How could this be better?" he says, he knows he is pushing his luck, but she is letting him. "Clearly, you're in pain and surely your heart can help you heal."

"What do you know of my pain?" Regina looks up with startled eyes and takes a step back.

He looks upon the tear-stained tracks on her cheeks, evidence of her suffering and he is almost knocked back by the force of his own realization.

This is the great and terrible Evil Queen? Her fearsome reputation is known throughout the realm, yet he finds he has already dropped the "Evil" from her name.

She is vulnerable, and trying so hard to hold onto her walls. He sees it. He knows what that is like, knows grief, and sorrow, and pain. He cannot help but be curious and wonder what has her out here, disheveled with twigs and dirt and leaves in her hair, mud on her hands, and feet, and clothing. What has the Queen so heartbroken that she is a breath away from abandoning her heart, her heart, in the middle of the forest?

"I would never claim such a knowledge, M'lady." His concerned eyes meet her dark ones. "But if you would allow me the privilege, I would like to help."

"Who are you?" She stared him up and down.

"Robin, Robin of Locksley," he says, grinning. She is trying to figure out her next move. He sees it as her eyes shift rapidly side to side, so he waits, and he isn't rewarded for his patience.

"The thief," she says.

"Yes, well, to be fair, I stole from the rich and gave to the poor," he gestures forward with his hand, showing her he would like to step closer. She nods, still unsure of this bold outlaw. "And, as we're tossing labels around, aren't you technically known as the Evil Queen?"

She flinches even though her heart is still in her hand and not in her chest, and he thinks he has overstepped this playful back and forth they have going.

"I prefer Regina," she says.

"Regina," Robin says, "I don't know what it is you're going through, but I know enough about grief to know this isn't the answer. No matter how much pain you may feel, you can't just bury it in the woods."

She's angry again, doesn't like it when people tell her what she can and can't do.

"Watch me," she says, turning around and stalking away from him. She kneels back on the ground by the hole she dug, wincing as her knees touch dirt.

"M'lady, you won't feel better. You won't feel anything."

Standing up again, Regina whirls around and shouts, "That's the point. I can't keep walking around knowing that I'll never see – " her faces falls, and she realizes what she was about to tell him, this stranger who happened upon her in the early break of morning.

He smiles sadly at her and feels he knows what she was about to say, so he goes out on a limb.

"My wife died because I inadvertently put her in harm's way during a job. After I lost her, I thought I'd never know happiness again." Robin watches as her eyes closes and tears slip from between her lashes. "I felt like that for a long time. Her death was my fault. I would have walked through hell to be with her again. But, when I finally admitted to myself that she was gone and that she was never coming back, I had to let that guilt go."

"I've lost so many people I care about. More than I'd like to admit," Regina says, shaking her head, her heart now held closely to her chest. She doesn't have the strength for walls and barriers to keep people out, her emotions already rampant and unrelenting.

"Including a child?" Robin guesses, and he knows he's right, because if looks could kill, he would be dead where he stands.

"How did you – " she begins.

"I've seen many fathers and mothers lose their children over the years," Robin's voice is somber, Regina knows he is telling the truth. "It's harder to tell with the fathers, I've seen them turn to the drink or lash out in anger. It's hard to bare witness to their grief. But the mothers..." Robin clears his throat. "They usually clinging to their stomachs as you did just moments ago. Unless I've misread, clearly you are a mother." He nods to the plot of earth she had been sitting on.

"You were spying on me?" Regina snarls.

This thief amazes her. No one has ever been able to read her so well, nor has anyone ever been so brazenly bold with their words around her. She can't decide if she likes it or not.

Robin ignores her question.

"Your child's not with you. What happened to…"

"My son. He's not dead if that's what you think." Regina's gaze falls on the soil below her feet. "He's just lost to me forever." Her voice hushed and filled with regret.

Robin notices the sun is fully out now, its beams cast light and gold around Regina's head like a halo. She looks exquisite in her thin, cotton shift. Goosebumps no longer pepper her arms and legs, and he can see the dark bags under her eyes much more clearly now that the mist has parted.

"I know how you feel, Regina," Robin says.

"I doubt that," she says.

"When I lost my wife I thought there was no reason to go on. But then I found one," he inches his way toward her, she eyes still downcast as her thumbs brushes along the deep, black veins in her heart.

"And what was that?" she says.

"People I care about." Robin takes another quiet step toward her.

"That's where you and I are different. I've already lost Henry. I've already lost the only thing I care about." Regina's grip tightens on her heart and tears slip down her cheeks.

"That doesn't mean you won't find a new reason." He takes two more steps. He can almost touch her now. "We all get a second chance, Regina. You just have to open your eyes to see it."

She closes her eyes and sighs, back to shaking her head, what is it with this man and Snow and their _second chances_.

"So, that's it? You just wanna give up?" Robin asks, it pains him that she can't see beyond her grief.

"Don't pretend to know me, thief! Or have you forgotten who you're speaking to?" Regina snaps.

Robin bites his tongue, thinking about what to say next, because she's right. He knows _of_ her, knows stories of the Evil Queen, but he doesn't know _her_, doesn't know Regina. But, it's clear, she's as broken as he was when Marian died, maybe even more so. He has always been good at reading people, and, for whatever reason, Robin can read Regina like a book, a very detailed, worn out book. He doesn't know why he cares, where this great need to convince her to return her heart comes from, so instead of trying to figure it out, he blames it on duty and honor.

"And, this isn't an end. It's an eternal middle, an in between," Regina rationalizes. "My heart will stay buried, and if there ever comes a day when Henry and I find our way back to each other, well, he's the only true love in my life and the only reason I'd even want to have it back in my chest again."

"Regina, listen to me. This is a mistake," Robin says. He takes another step toward her.

That's when he sees a shadow pass over them from above, he's sure Regina would have seen it, too, but her eyes are closed. His gaze shifts, but the shadow is gone. Nevertheless, Robin knows when he is being hunted.

"Regina, listen to me. You need to put that back in your chest," Robin says, cautiously, his eyes still searching the sky, while his hand reaches behind his back.

"And just who do you think you are?" She watches him place his fingers around his bow, misreading him, she forms a fireball in her hand.

"M'lady," Robin grits his teeth. "I'm trying to tell you – " But he has no more time to explain.

They both wheel around to their joint-left as an animalistic screech comes from above them.

"Put that back in your chest!" Robin shouts, and Regina doesn't hesitate, her grief and sorrow and anguish crash down on her in full force, it momentarily knocks her off balance.

Robin stands in front of her, notching a new arrow and waiting for the perfect opening. He sees Regina out of the corner of his eye, and she jumps directly in front of him. He shouts her name and quickly lowers his weapon.

"I don't run from monsters, they run from me," she says, throwing a fireball at it, but it glances off the creature's wing and it still holds its course. They have little time to react so they both duck, but, it's not quick enough, and the beast latches onto Regina's arm, pulling her up into the air.

"Regina!" Robin shouts, grabbing her legs. The weight of them both too much for the creature, it releases its talons.

Regina and Robin fall into a heap on the hard, forest floor. Robin rolls to the side and braces himself against a nearby tree. He hollers at Regina to "stay down," his arrow cuts through the air, embedding itself in the winged beasts shoulder, it screams and flies away.

Robin drops his head and pauses for just a moment to catch his breath.

This is not what he expected his morning would be like. He planned on tracking down a deer, carrying it back to camp, and celebrating another day lived with his Merry Men and his son, Roland. He did not expect to be sneaking through the forest at daybreak, following a woman who turned out to be the Queen, to then have to convince her to put her _heart_ back where it rightfully belonged, only to be attacked by God only knows what that winged creature from hell was.

"Are you completely mad?!" He rounds on her. "You stepped in between me and a moving target. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

Regina scoffs, brushing herself off while she stands, and hisses.

"M'lady, you're wounded." He rushes to inspect her arm, anger forgotten. He drops his bow and arrows on the ground beside her, gently lifts her arm to inspect the nasty gash that mars her otherwise pristine skin.

"Glad to know chivalry isn't dead," Regina says, watching as a grin appears on his lips. "And, I'm fine. It's just a scratch." She pulls her arm away.

"No, we should get that looked at. It might get infected." Robin glances around. "We should leave this place before that beast comes back. Where's your camp? I'll escort you."

"Excuse me?" Regina's brows rise.

"Come, M'lady. You're injured. I'm duty bound and cannot let you go alone." Robin offers her his hand.

"It's a good thing you don't have a say in the matter." With that, Regina raises her arms up and disappears in a cloud of purple, leaving him behind with his hand outstretched toward nothing but air and forest.

Robin looks around him in a full circle.

"Unbelievable," he shouts, stalking over to his bow and arrows on the ground, lifting them up and onto his back where they belong. "Great. Just great."

It's only after she's gone that he realizes she hadn't been wearing anything under her night gown. He'd been so distracted by her tears, her heart, and beauty, and the beast, and fire, and her anger, and how infuriating she is, and her injury that he barely had time to register that he could vaguely see peaked nipples on the other side of thin fabric.

"Bloody hell," Robin says, running his hand through his hair.

He started the morning tracking a deer, and now he's returning to his camp empty handed with pants a little too tight for his liking.

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the ouat premise, just the parts where things take a twist. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Dimples and Bruising

Regina appears back in the middle of her tent, her eyes closed and shoulders slumped. Everything aches, her back, her feet, her hands from the burn of pebbles and rock as they cut to break her fall. She's filthy, covered from head to toe in grim.

She needs to clean up before Snow sees her, wants to avoid a conversation that starts with questions and ends with answers she doesn't want to give and doesn't really know herself.

She has her own questions, starting with, w_hat the hell just happened?_

Regina's thoughts stray to the thief, the outlaw she met in the woods as she slowly slips off what used to be a nightgown, shivering as cold air meets her naked skin. She winces as cotton fabric irritates the particularly nasty gash on her arm, the blood is starting to congeal around the edges, but it's still dreadful to look at and stings. She needs to keep an eye on it, but it's the least of her worries at the moment.

She's more preoccupied with the concern she saw in thief's eyes, his brash words and bold behavior. No one has ever spoken to her the way he did, no one has had the balls or courage to do so.

_What did he care if her heart beat in the ground instead of in her chest? What did he know of her pain? And, why had she listened to him for so long?_

She hears someone moving around outside, wonders who it is until she picks out Granny's voice, hollering at Ruby to "_wake up and help her make breakfast for these animals." _Regina smirks, the old woman would be up before everyone else, or at least, seemingly so, since no one knows she's been up for a few hours now.

Regina doesn't have many options in the clothing department, not until they find a local village or market to restock supplies and look for proper provisions for their journey to the castle, which is a month on foot at the rate they're going without horses. Two more reasons to miss Storybrooke – cars and a closet filled with tailored pencil skirts, six inch high heels, and designer dresses that hugged every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. She could use magic to create something, but it seems pointless, so, for now, she makes do with what she wore yesterday, pulls it out of her bag, and places it in a pile on the floor.

She picks the nightgown up from where it pooled near her feet, tears off some of the fabric that managed to remain relatively clean, and, with a wave of her hand, a bowl of water and lavender oil appears on the ground beside her.

"_All magic comes with a price, dearie," _Rumple's voice echoes in her head, she feels her body already paid for this one.

Regina sits down on her bedroll and bends one of her knees, she submerges the torn cloth in the water, wrings it out, and begins to wipe dirt and pinprick droplets of blood off her scraped shins. It's a ritual she's all too familiar with, having spent many nights alone in her room, cleaning up cuts and blocking out pain. The rhythm of the liquid soothes and the oil stings, but as she lifts her hand away her skin is clean.

Her mother wasn't kind or empathetic. Her mentor wasn't merciful or understanding. They each taught obedience through the stinging of knives, the burning of hot wax, or the cruelty of magic and harsh words. They didn't calm away her tears with butterflies kisses or terms of endearment. They often left her with their lessons, battered, black-and-blue and said it would make her stronger, that they were only doing what was in her best interest.

She dunks the cloth in the bowl of water again and repeats, listening as water clings to the rag, drips down her knees, and finds its way back into the bowl with a twist of her wrists and a squeeze of her hands. The rhythm continues until both her legs and feet are back to how they started before she awoke from her nightmare.

Regina never had someone who took the time to take care of her or remind her to even take care of herself, but she does her best. She moves onto her arms, careful of the cut the beast's talons left behind, and soon she lifts her hair off her neck, and lets the coolness ease some of the tension out of her muscles.

It happened so quickly she hadn't been able to get a great look at it, but she swears that flying creature looked like a monkey.

"Whatever it is, I'll make it wish it was never born," she whispers, picking leaves and twigs out of her hair and placing them in a small pile on the ground by her feet.

Regina collects her raven locks into a braid. She ties it at the bottom with a thin piece of leather she yanked off the strap of a bag, draping it over her shoulder. Rummaging through the bag again, she pulls out a small compact mirror, another parting gift from the sleeping beauty and her prince.

"Oh, if Maleficent could see me now? I really have hit rock bottom_,_" Regina says, while looking into the small reflective surface.

Her face untouched by foundation, lipstick, mascara or eyeliner. The reflection she sees looks like someone she once knew, the woman she was for just a brief time, the one who hesitated to rip out the heart of a unicorn, who stilled her hands at the thought of using magic. The one who didn't look like her mother. Her eyes bare like her body, worn and frayed at the edges, but she sees _her_ there, staring back, one arm wrapped around her knees, goose bumps puckering on her naked skin, a shadow, a stranger still. Regina wipes a smudge of dirt off her cheek and stops to stare in the mirror. She doesn't recognize the person gazing back at her. Tossing the rag against the tent wall, she pushes herself off the floor.

A few minutes later, she looks presentable, no one will ever be the wiser to her scuffed knees beneath her leather pants, or the wound on her arm covered by her long sleeves, or the way her heart still bleeds. By the time she moves the flap of her tent entrance open with her hand, almost everyone is awake, and the view makes her roll her eyes and thin her lips.

She might as well be standing in the diner back on Main Street; these people are acting like nothing has changed. She notices Leroy first, grumbling about his sore back and a lack of coffee. Ruby stands behind Granny, hand on her hip while the woman barks orders at her, stirring something in a pot over the fire pit. Snow and Charming are on the other side of camp, pecking each other with small kisses.

_David_, she reminds herself. She needs something to ground her outside of this fairytale life, wants to be more than just a character in a story, if she's going to try and move forward and continuing living with these people, she needs something to be _normal_. She can't bring herself to keep calling him by the pet name given to him by his doting wife.

"Ugh, get a room," Regina mutters, "I'll puke if I have to watch them canoodle until we get to the castle."

Snow's face brightens when she spots Regina, waves at her, and shouts, "good morning!" As the queen gets closer, Snow frowns and says, "Are you alright?"

Regina tilts her head to the side, cracking her neck. _Don't let her know how you're really doing, _she thinks.

"I'm fine. Slept like a baby," she says, sarcastically, tugging the cuff of her sleeve down. "I see you're both as chipper as ever."

Snow blushes, looking back up at her Charming, and seems to accept Regina's response as a good enough answer. David places another chaste kiss on her lips, and her cheeks round like apples as she smiles.

"Oh, Leroy," Snow says suddenly, spotting the dwarf trudging through camp behind Regina. She bends down to pick up the bucket at her feet. "Granny needs more water. Could you –"

"Sure, sister," he says, reaching for it before she can finish her sentence, but Regina's quicker.

"I'll do it," she says, snatching it before his fingers have a chance to lock on the handle. She doesn't want to stand here watching the prince and princess slobber all over each other.

"You're sure you're the best one to do that, Regina," David says, he quirks his brow at her and cocks his head to the side. "Can't imagine you did much scouting or foraging from the mayor's desk in Storybrooke or from the luxury of _Snow's _castle for that matter. I think we're more familiar with these woods than you are."

"You mean because of all the time you spent tending to sheep on your family's little farm? Or while Snow hid in a cave only a couple miles from the castle she grew up in? You may know how to track and survive, but you forget I wasn't always the queen, dear. I was born in these forests, raised in these woods. Besides, it's not hard to figure out what direction water flows," Regina says, points downhill and saunters out of camp.

She doesn't explain that she already found the river earlier this morning, doesn't want to tell them about the thief and his flying arrows.

"What's got her panties in a bunch?" Leroy sasses, loud enough for her to her him.

"Leroy," Snow chastises. She's happy Regina's helping, she doesn't care if it's accompanied by sass and sharp words.

Snow can't help the sad grimace that appears on her face. She knows it's just Regina's way of protecting herself, a defense mechanism that rears its ugly, and often-inappropriate head when she feels threatened or insulted. She's quick to lash out and hurt others before they can lash out and hurt her.

* * *

Regina crouches on the river's shoreline to fill the bucket for Granny, smooth stones under her feet. A few hours ago, this same spot was quiet and oddly eerie with mist creeping between trees.

Her thoughts drift to the thief, his rough but kind hands as they inspected her arm, his defined muscles as they bulged under the strain of his bow, his soft, piercing eyes, and his breath on her neck as they fell into a heap on the forest floor before he'd rolled away from her and succeeded where she'd failed.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say he'd been flirting with her. It's with wide eyes that Regina realizes she flirted back. It doesn't matter though, because he's gone, and chances are she'll never see him again.

Her boots are neatly placed beside her long cloak on a fallen evergreen, a few jays fly above her, each diving for a beak full of water and then returning to their morning song. It seems everything is cheery except for her, even the bright, blue skyline. She stands and stares up at the clouds, the sun inching its way higher and higher, her gaze falls to the clear water lapping at her ankles. Heaving the wooden bucket out of the river, she turns, walks to the fallen tree and sets the pail down, going through the motions of drying off her feet and sliding on her boots and cloak.

Regina is half way back to camp when the rotted rope of the bucket breaks and all the water crashes onto the ground and seeps into the earth.

"Shit," Regina sighs and groans frustrated. She'll need to go back and fill it.

"You said a bad word," a pint-sized, little voice says behind her and to the left. "Papa says, you're not s'ppose to say bad words."

_What is it with this forest and its inhabitants sneaking up on her?_

Regina glances over her shoulder, and her hard eyes immediately soften when they meet a mop of brown, curly hair, dimpled little cheeks, and fidgeting fingers. A child is hiding behind a tree, staring at her curiously. He wears a little green winter coat, little brown boots that gobble up his legs, and has precious, brown eyes that any mother or person with a heart could get lost in.

"It's also not nice to sneak up on people," Regina says, she kneels down on the ground as he inches his way closer and closer, curious but also cautious. "Now, where _is_ _your_ papa, little man?" she inquires.

The boy smiles at her, his dimples deepen, and she forgets about the lost water.

She knows no one else in camp has a child. Her eyes scan the surrounding forest, but she doesn't see anyone else. It's just the two of them.

"Mmm," the little boy taps his finger on his chin. "Papa's not here."

Regina smiles at his brow and scrunched up lips. _He's thinking so hard, she says to herself. _It reminds of her Henry when he was five, and how he tried once to explain to her just how three cookies disappeared off the kitchen counter before dinner. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears at the memory.

"_Mmm, not sure, Mama," her little prince said, rubbing his cute little fingers on his chin. "Wasn't me."_

_Regina raised her eyebrows and pointed at herself questioningly._

"_No, Mama!" Henry said, shock in his little voice. "Wasn't you, either."_

"_Then who was it, sweetie?" she said, walking over to him and hoisting him up onto her hip._

"_Mmm… not sure."_

_Regina rolled her eyes and lightly brushed her nose against the tip of her son's, and he giggled._

"_D'ove you, Mama," Henry said, hugging her neck tightly._

"_I love you, too, my little prince," she said, rubbing soothingly up and down his back._

God, her baby had been adorable, with his little, chubby cheeks, and his little, bitty fingers, and wispy hair – much like the tiny tot who is now standing in front of her, no longer hiding behind his tree.

"Well, you must be awfully brave to be out here all by yourself," Regina says, tucking a loose hair behind her ear.

"You're by yourself," the little boy points out. "So, we both must be brave," he smiles at her proudly, and she smiles back.

He looks at her curiously; his brow is doing that cute little thing again, where it creases as he thinks about something really hard. His eyes wander over her face, and he reaches out and touches the scar on her lip. Regina's pupils dilate. He's a curiously little thing.

"I have one, too. Wanna see?" he asks and shows her the white line on the palm of his tiny hand before she can say yes.

"Oh, I see. We're twins," she says, and he beams at her.

"What's your name?" he asks her.

"Regina," she says and touches him lightly on the nose. "What's yours, dear?"

"Roland," he stands a little taller and looks behind her to the bucket on its side, remembering the word she said moments before. "You said a bad word. Papa says we not s'ppose to say bad words."

Regina chuckles and says, "Well, what do you say we go find this papa or yours?"

Roland looks around and says, "okay," before excitedly grabbing her hand and tugging her along, off the path and into the denser trees.

They only go so far before she hears the pounding of feet on dirt and another boy, around 15 or 16-years-old, shout, "Roland," in an angry, annoyed tone.

He runs up to the little boy, who grips Regina's hand more firmly and clings to her legs.

"You little, shit, we were looking all over for you," the teen tries to grab Roland's cloak to pull him toward him, but Regina pulls Roland behind her and out of the way, she sends a small burst of magic through the air, not enough to hurt, but enough to knock the kid flat on his back.

"Just what do you think you're doing?!" she yells, protectively. The teen scrambles back on his hands and feet, his eyes grow larger, looking up at her from his position in the dirt. "Roland, do you know this boy?" Regina asks. He nods his head and clings onto her cloak.

"He's not very nice though, 'Gina," he says. "But da other one is meaner."

"What other one?" she asks.

"This one!" a voice shouts from behind her, Roland screams, and Regina feels a sharp pain in the back of her head, before she hits the ground hard.

"Well, well, well," the cold voice speaks again, towering over her and dropping a broken branch on the ground. "Wot do we 'ave 'ere?"

* * *

Robin strides into his camp much later in the morning and with far smaller game than he planned. It's practically noon, but after Regina left him, in took him _several_ moments to collect himself and figure out his next course of action. Refusing to return to the Merry Men without a proper catch, he took off deeper into the woods to where he knew a den of hares lived.

Huffing a frustrated sigh, he swings several strung rabbits down from his shoulder, passes a row of small tents, and ducks into the galley. Old man Harris is chopping carrots and mincing some sort of herb with a dull knife, six of the Merry Men turn to look at their leader as he enters. They all fall silent and steal knowing glances at one another. Robin halts in his steps and stares at them.

"What's going on, men?" he asks, somewhat guardedly.

"Oh, not much," Jakan, the youngest of the Merry Men, not 18 this winter, answers nonchalantly. "Just wonderin' wot we're gonna do about a certain... problem."

A few others snicker at his remark, but Little John tells them to be quiet.

Robin's eyes narrow even more. "What _problem_?" he asks.

"I took care of it," Jakan says, "The problem's tied up."

Little John smacks him across the back of the head, still can't believe what this foolish boy has done. A few more men chuckle before Robin glares daggers at them.

"Does somebody want tell me what the bloody hell you're all talking about?" he barks, exasperated at whatever this latest development is and the vagueness at which it was presented. He isn't sure what's going on, but whatever _this is_, he has a feeling it isn't _good_.

"Go, on then," Little John prompts angrily, crossing his arms, scowling at them all. "Tell him what you've done."

"We got a woman tied up out there," one of his men responds.

"A woman?" Robin whispers. "_What_ woman?" he adds louder, gazing around the room, his fists clenched at his sides.

Little John knows that look in Robin's eyes, has only seen it a few times as it's only brought out of his friend when he feels a great wrong has been done. And, John knows, this is a great wrong. He doesn't care who _that _woman is, he knows Robin doesn't take kindly to the mistreatment of others, especially of women, given his past with Marian and the cruel, abusive brother Robin rescued her from.

"Why," Robin bites, again, as no one has answered him, "would you have a _woman,_" he enunciates, "tied up in the first place?"

"Not any woman, Robin," Jakan states, the smug look on his face putting Robin off.

This young lad has been a problem since he first joined their company, pushing the line between right and wrong, challenging Robin's decisions, planting doubt and poisonous thoughts into the weaker, more malleable minds of the newer Merry Men recruits. Robin wanted to give him a chance, wanted to take him under his wing, and show him what a _better _life could look like after his village burnt to the ground, but his faith in this lad has waned, and looking at Jakan now, Robin sees the young man's true morals surfacing.

"Stop playing games," Robin shouts, "And answer my question!"

Jakan sneers at him, hocks up phlegm, and spits it on the ground.

"We were chasin' af'er yer li'l brat, me an' mah mate, yer li'l Rolan'. He followed us as we were scoutin'," Jakan nudges a younger boy to his left. The boy glances up at Robin and immediately looks back down at his feet.

"Roland?" Robin says, realization dawns on him, his eyes shift to Little John questioningly.

"He's fine, Robin," Little John says. "A little shaken, but he's fine. He's with Tuck."

"Turns out, he's good for sumfink," Jakan pipes back up again, doesn't know when to shut up. "Found himself talkin' wiv the Evil Queen, she was all alone, distracted by 'is cute, little face. But, I took care of it." Jakan tilts his chin up proudly.

"What?" Robin asks, his stomach tightens.

His thoughts drift back to the woman he stumbled upon this morning, back to her tears, porcelain skin, beauty, and lethalness. Back to the grief he saw in her eyes, and how little and how much he found out about her in a matter of minutes by just looking at her. He thinks of the beast that clawed at her arm, the scratches on her knees from falling, and then looks at Jakan's self-satisfied grin, and he knows the snot has hurt her.

"What have you done with her?" Robin's voice is terrifyingly calm.

"I snuck up behind 'er and knocked 'er out," Jakan says.

Little John lets out a weary sigh, before raising his voice above the murmuring voices of the other Merry Men. "The boys found her and dragged her back into camp before we could stop them, Robin, they didn't – "

Robin cuts him off.

"Don't, John. Do _not _make excuses for them. I don't know what the hell you think you lot were doing, but we are _not_ kidnappers." Robin all but yells rounding on the two adolescents responsible and the other men who laughed before.

He rakes one hand through his hair as the other unconsciously fingers his knife, ready to cut any bindings they might have placed on her.

"Now, where is she?" Robin says.

"Robin," one of his men pipes up, "you've never met her, but Jakan, his family, his village, they – "

"I have! I met her this morning," he lets it slip.

"You what?" Little John asks.

"I met her this morning," Robin says, pulling one of his hands down his face. _Oh, God. This has been a long day already_, he thinks. "She isn't evil, sharp tongued and quick witted for sure, but I saw no evil there."

"_It's in the name –_ the _Evil_ Queen_," _Jakan adds loudly, quickly shoving a chair aside to stand nose to nose with Robin. "I don't care wot you say. I'd do it again. That bitch deserves wot she got."

Before Robin can respond, Little John stands up and places himself between them.

"Alright, now. Back off, Jakan, why don't you go get some rest. It's obvious you need some sleep."

There are bags under the lad's eyes, and his hands tremble.

"She's seen our faces, and, once she wakes up, we're all as good as dead." Another man interjects. "We might as well kill her and be done with it."

"You see..." Jakan agrees and points, a lecherous grin taking over his mouth. "We all want her blood. We all want her to pay for wot she's done. But, I say we 'ave a wee... _fun_ wiv 'er first."

With that statement, Robin instantly grabs the young man by the collar and slams him against the back wall, his face furious and inches from the boy's face.

"I don't know how you speak such words," Robin seethes with anger, spit flies from his mouth. "But, you are done. I'll give you time to pack your belongings, but then I want you to get the hell out of my forest before I do something I may live to one day regret."

"Robin –" Little John begins, but Robin silences him with a glare.

"We're Merry Men. We're not scoundrels, or thugs, or common criminals. We steal, yes, but we live by a code of morals, only taking what's necessary and nothing more, only taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Now, each and every last one of you," Robin says, looking around at the men in the tent. "has a dark past, including myself.

"Each one of us was given a second chance to amend our wrong doings, to atone for horrible things we've done. I am no more innocent than she who you've tied up."

"Robin, I know you're angry, but –"

"No, John! No questions asked. The Queen deserves the same, and we do not _murder_, or _pillage_, or _rape. _Ever. John, you're to escort Jakan to the edge of Sherwood Forest and make sure he keeps going." Robin then turns to the other men. "And, if any of you are in the same mind as Jakan, I suggest you pack your things now and be gone."

The men shake their heads, knowing he's right. He throws Jakan to John and whirls around.

"Now, _where _is she?" Robin's voice, accentuating every word, slices through the tension in the tiny room. A few of them mumble in unison that they "_tied her up in the council tent."_

Without another word, Robin turns on his heel and storms out of the galley, the rabbits forgotten in a heap on the dirt. He quickly crosses the distance to the council tent, slips silently inside, and the flap falls shut behind him. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the light to the dark, but Robin moves forward slowly. He finds his heart beats rapidly in his chest, and he can't remember the last time anger has shaken him so furiously. The tent's cool, darkened interior is barely lit by dim rays of sunshine, seeping in through canvas cracks, but it's enough. It allows him to see _the_ _woman_ Jakan talked about, the _woman _bound, and gagged, and unconscious before him.

She's wearing leather pants now, a low necked blouse and embellished corset, but it's still her, still the woman he spied through the mists of early morning, still Regina.

Her ankles and knees are firmly held together by rope, her legs tangled up in her cloak. His heart sinks. _They hadn't even bothered to remove it so fabric isn't pulling roughly at her neck. _He sees where the skin of her throat has rubbed red and raw. Robin bends his knees and sits balanced on his heels. He undoes the clasp, pushes the offending garment off her shoulders, pulls the knife from his belt, cuts through the rope at her knees and ankles, and moves to the other side of the beam she's bound to. Eyeing Jakan's handy work, he sees just how thorough the scoundrel was.

Robin rips the bindings from her hands and thin waist, and, given that the rope is the only thing holding her up, her body begins to fall sideways. She groans as Robin catches her.

He holds Regina to his chest, and, again, he thinks of the fragile, broken woman he happened upon this morning. The woman, who stubbornly stood between his arrow and a beast. The woman, who ripped her heart out of her chest in grief and sorrow. The woman, who despite everything he has been told about her, never once used a single fireball on him. Robin has never let the words of others form opinions for him, he's never been one to pass judgment without the person getting to prove themselves to him first, and he feels the woman lying in his arms deserves the same. After all, a similar deed and second chance was granted to him not long ago when he was drowning underneath darkness.

Robin shifts Regina in his lap, gently swipes strands of wild hair away from her face, and notices for the first time the dried blood, caked at the base of her skull.

"Damn it," he whispers, biting his bottom lip and furrowing his brow. He sighs deeply, and his eyes continue to find injuries.

There's bruising around her temple, as well, surely from where her head met the ground, he doubts anyone bothered to catch her, and there's a small scratch along the rise of her cheekbone, and he wonders what the hell she was still doing in the forest, only hours after they were attacked by that winged beast. He checks her arm for the wound from this morning, and, as he thought, she didn't bother to bandage it. He guessed correctly when he assumed she wasn't the type to thoroughly take care of herself, even if he can tell that she bathed and cleaned the dirt off her face by the faint smell of lavender in the air.

"Mmm," Regina moans and shifts slightly in his arms.

Robin slips his thumb between the gag and her lips, and pulls it out of her mouth. She instinctively licks her dry, parched lips, and it sends tingles up Robin's spin.

_Gods, she's beautiful_, he thinks.

Regina's eyes blink up at him, several times, before they widen, and she vaguely remembers getting water for Snow, talking to a dimple faced, little munchkin, the angry faces of two young males, then feeling pain at the back of her skull, and then nothing. She tries to shuffle away from whoever's holding her, but, a wave of dizziness overcomes her, and she slumps back into his arms.

"I don't recommend movement, M'lady. You've suffered quite a blow to the head," Robin says.

Hearing his voice, Regina chances a glance up and over her shoulder to his face, and the most strikingly beautiful pair of blue eyes meet hers. Time seems to stop before she recognizes him.

"You?" she breathes.

Robin nods, caught unprepared by the power her unusual brown eyes suddenly have over him, rendering him speechless. Moments pass without a word, he wonders silently why he feels so drawn to her.

Anger rushes through Regina, and she glares at him. Robin moves his hand, still holding his knife, and, seeing it out of the corner of her eye, she cringes.

"Is this where you drag me out to your men and finish the job those two boys started?" Regina says through clenched teeth, before moaning.

"What? No, no," Robin says, horrified, when he realizes what she must have inferred from the blade still in his hand with her so vulnerable in his arms. Putting the knife down on the ground, he helps Regina stand. "Trust me... M'lady, I'm not going to hurt you," he murmurs softly.

Something about the gentle tone of his voice eases her worry somewhat, and, after a moment she leans her head forward a bit, the movement throws her off balance, but the thief steadies her.

"Why?" Regina whispers confused.

"I'm sorry, Regina, truly. It was one of my men that did this to you, and I take full responsibility for that," he explains. "I cannot apologize enough. I did see to it that the young man responsible was thoroughly dealt with, you will never see him again."

"I'm sure," Regina doubts, as she rubs her aching wrists and shoulders.

Robin watches as Regina seems to realize something.

"Where's Roland?" Her eyes are wild and full of worry. "I was taking him back to his papa, I have to –"

"He's alright. I've been assured that he's a little startled, but fine all the same. I trust my men with him. My question, though M'lady, is _are you alright_?" Robin asks gently, noticing her movements. She nods.

"Wait, your men? Roland's your son?" Regina's eyes glisten and dart across his face. Robin nods. "Hmm, like father like son."

"I don't quite understand what you're inferring," Robin says with a quirk of his brow.

"Just that he and his father both seem to like spying on woman in the forest," Regina delivers, sassily.

Robin smiles softly.

"Yes, well, like me, my boy can't refuse a pretty face," Robin pauses. "Regina, what were you doing in the forest, _alone_, again?"

Regina blushes, sighs and says, _damn_, she's sure by now Snow and David are out looking for her, and the thought of stumbling back into camp only to be greeted by concerned eyes and hurried questions infuriates her.

"It's not important, thief," she bites back and brushes off the rest of his question, "but I need to get back."

"When I ask if I can escort you back to your camp, are you going to disappear again?" Robin asks, slight smirk on his face.

Regina's head is still pounding, and, as much as she hates the idea, she knows she can't magic her way out of this one. She teleported while drunk once in Storybrooke, and she ended up standing in the middle of the lake. She's still disoriented and feels like that scenario is likely to repeat itself if she tries to find her way back to camp using magic, only now she doesn't know where she'd end up.

"I'm not sure I'd make it there on my own at the moment," Regina says, glancing down at his hands on her forearms. "But if you don't get your hands off me, I'll turn you into a horse and ride you back into my camp."

The words slip out of her mouth and into the air between them before she realizes just what she's said and how it must sound.

Robin smirks.

"Yes, well, that's not typically how I prefer to be ridden, M'lady."

* * *

Robin continues checking on her as they make their way back to her camp. She has no idea where they're going, so she trusts his tracking skills and experience that comes from knowing the forest like it's the back of his hand. When he helped her out of the dark tent she'd been tied up in, she noticed that most of his men diverted their eyes and busied themselves with something else, whether it was collecting firewood, sharpening arrows, or kicking at the dirt under their feet. No one wanted to make eye contact. She thought it was because of her, but when she glanced at Robin and saw the fury on his face, she knew it wasn't.

_He really did find their actions appalling. He really was worried about her_, Regina thinks, her brow furrowed_._ She knows now that the little child with dimples who found her in the woods is Robin's four-year-old son. _So, that, was his something to live for, _Regina thinks, before being pulled out of her thoughts by a hard tug on her sleeve.

She looks down.

"You're Queen?" Roland asks. "Tuck said you had a crown and ev'ryfing."

"Yes, sweetheart," she says, "Or at least I used to be." Regina's steps slow to keep in time with his little feet.

"Is your head okay?" he points at the bruise on her face.

"Yes, dear," she says.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," Roland frowns and his eyes well up with tears. Regina stops walking and crouches down next to him. "I was scared. I didn't know what to do."

"Roland, hey," Regina says, touching his sweet, little face, wiping tears away with her thumb. "I'm okay, see," she says, smiling at him and holding out her arms. "I'm okay, and you were very brave. Just like a knight."

She doesn't remember much, she heard someone shout his name, the fear in his eyes when Jakan hit her in the back of the head. She remembers slamming against the ground hard, and seeing Roland sobbing before she passed out.

"I was?" his lip quivers.

"Yes, you were a very brave, little knight."

"Your brave knight?" His eyes perk up.

"Yes, my brave, little knight," she smiles, he hugs her, and, for a moment, his tiny grip on her steals her breath away. Henry was the last child to hug her, it brings tears to her eyes, but when Roland asks her to pick him up, her heart can't refuse.

Robin steps closer, worry in his eyes when she missteps standing up.

"No, I'm fine," she says, holding out her hand. "I've got him."

Robin smiles at her, and Regina's see a glint of something unfamiliar in his eyes.

"What?" she asks. "Why are you looking at me like that?

"Who knew an Evil Queen had a soft spot for children."

"Yes, well, who knew a thief had honor," she says, continuing to walk ahead of him with Roland happily sitting in her arms, her hips swaying seductively back and forth.

Robin gulps, _she'll be the death of me_, he thinks.

That's how Snow sees them walking back into camp. A child in Regina's arms and two men following behind her.

"Regina!" Snow shouts, as she, David and Leroy hurry over to her.

"I'm fine," Regina groans back, the nagging about to begin.

"Oh my god, we were so worried. You left for a bucket of water hours ago, and when you didn't return – "

"Seriously, sister, how long does it take to find a river?" Leroy says.

Regina glares at him.

"That's my fault," Robin says, putting his hand on the small of Regina's back, he notices when she immediately steps away from his touch and sets Roland down on the ground. Robin holds out his hand, and Snow shakes it. "Robin of Locksley, at your service."

"Snow White," the princess says.

"Snow White?" Little John questions. "If you're Snow White, what are you doing with her?"

"Her?" Regina questions. "Show some respect," she glares him up and down. "Or at least some restraint at the buffet, I know you could use a little less, you walked slow enough on the way here."

Robin rolls his eyes, realizing she must feel better. _I see, her quick wit is back_, he thinks.

"What happened?" David asks, looking Regina up and down.

Robin and Little John fill them in on the details, while Regina rolls her eyes whenever Snow lets out a particularly annoying gasp as more and more is revealed, until finally Robin finishes with the sordid tale.

"As you can see, I'm fine," Regina says.

"Sorry to disappoint, sister, but you look like you were on the receiving end of a really nasty, bitch slap," Leroy states, gives her a pointed look, "and you lost."

"Regina, lets get you cleaned up," Snow says, touching her arm, but Regina cries out as Snow unknowingly puts pressure on the gash hidden beneath her sleeve.

"Damn it, Snow!" she shouts in pain and in anger and bites her lip. "I said I'm fine."

"M'lady, we're all just trying to be of assistance," Robin says, he picks up Roland off the ground, the little boy looks frightened at her outburst.

Regina takes one look at his dimples and terrified little eyes, and it breaks her already battered heart. She can't ever do anything right.

"I didn't ask for your help," she says, storming off before anyone has a chance to respond.

* * *

The sun's last rays start to drift below the horizon line by the time Robin finds himself pacing outside Regina's tent. The stars begin to twinkle, and the moon glows, looking like a ghostly orb hanging in the sky beyond the clouds. He just came from a rather long discussion with the Princess Snow White and Prince David, regarding the state of affairs after their abrupt departure to a land without magic, this Storybrooke. No one else attempted to coax Regina to join them, and, for that, Robin is grateful. He knows she needs her rest, and he needed time to think.

Once daybreaks, they'll leave for the castle. Though quite honestly, Robin sees no point, if it's like Rumplestiltskin's castle, it'll be in shambles, ransacked after the curse hit. He assured them it's probably completely unlivable, but Snow insisted, and Robin volunteered to take the news to the queen, along with a root salve and fresh bandages for her arm he retrieved from the old woman, called Granny. Her words rings through his ears.

"_She's stubborn,"_ _Granny_ _told him._ _"But, if you think you can scale those dark walls, best of luck."_

_She'd handed him the bandages, and, with a nod of understanding, gave him a wink before he set off to his current destination._

He knows Regina will oppose him each step of the way, and that's why it's so important for him to have his mind firmly set. Finally coming to a stop in front of her small tent, he grips the canvas flap and pauses before going in. He calls to her, but when he doesn't receive an answer, he pulls the flap aside and enters.

The little light there is left in the day floods into her dark tent, he sees her briefly sitting on the ground, cloak pooled around her legs tucked under her. Then the flap closes behind him, and he waits for his eyes to adjust to darkness.

What will he see when his vision finally clears and his eyes meet her face? Even though he can't see her in the dark, he knows she sits just feet away, and still it makes no sense to him why he feels the urge to comfort her, needs to see her, must know she's alright. Even more bothersome is the fact that he wonders if it is at all possible to want someone near and far away at the same time? Is it possible to need someone yet not need them all at once?

Robin thinks about her face, the beauty and sadness in her eyes that seems to captivate him and take his breath away each time he looks upon her visage. He thinks about her mouth, the way she smiles at his son and how it seems to wash away his worries. He thinks about her eyes, how they penetrate deep into his soul, making his heart race and his breath quicken. He thinks about her hair cascading endlessly down her back that very morning, those dark locks he longed to bury his face in. And, Robin thinks about her hands, hands that gently cupped his sons face to wipe away tears. Those same hands that he knows snuffed the life out of countless people, that burned villages to ash, that spread hate, and spurred fear and loathing, and held fire, and power, and death.

He's been warring within himself over the last few hours, thinking about what his men see, what the world sees when they look at her – a murderer, a monster, an Evil Queen. But, Robin doesn't see those things; instead he sees prey and predator, grief and sorrow, a mother and a lioness. A woman who doesn't quite know what she's searching for, walls built so high only few can break them down, and he hopes he's one of those few, needs to be one of those few.

Swallowing hard, he knows that what his men see, what he sees, none of that truly matters. What matters is what Regina sees when she looks herself in the mirror.

"Regina," he breathes in deeply and continues. "May I come in?"

Raising her head, she casts her first steely glance at him. "What do you want, thief?"

He lowers his eyes briefly, holding up the bandages and fabric, before looking back up at her, the worry evident on his face.

"I've just come from a meeting with the Prince and Princess," he admits, his eyes searching hers for any sign of curiosity.

"And?"

"And," he says, lifting an eyebrow and sitting down beside her, "We will be leaving for your castle come sun up."

"Oh, _we_ will, will we?" she narrows her eyes at him. "And just who invited you?"

"Snow White," he says, setting the bowl of salve down between them and reaching for her arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" she says, jerking her arm out of his range.

The alarm on her face, the words fumbling thoughtlessly out of her mouth send frustration flooding through his body as he struggles to understand and make sense of her. She's heated and cagey, more so than he's seen anyone in a long time.

Robin brings his hand up to run it through his hair in annoyance. He feels the need to strike out at something, at everyone who played a part in hardening her this way.

He sighs, drops his hand, and looks empathetically into her eyes for a long time, and when her face starts to soften a bit, he tells her, "I just want to help, Regina. Is that so hard to believe?"

His words make her inhale sharply, and another long silent moment passes between them, until he implores once more, holding out his hand.

"Please, M'lady," Robin says.

She doesn't understand why he's being so kind to her. All she's done since meeting him is throw countless snarky remarks his way, shoot daggers at him with her eyes, and even threaten him with fire and spells. But he's been so persistent, unrelenting, and it unsettles her how much she's already let him see, how much she's already shared with him with so few words. It's too much for her, she wants to push back, protect herself from his friendly eyes and comforting voice, and barricade herself away from his caring and his empathy. She's already opened her heart up too much to his tiny tot with dimples; she already knows she made her first mistake.

"I don't want this right now," Regina says, pushing him away from her. "I just want to be alone."

Hastily, Robin pulls his hands away, dropping his head.

_Good_, she thinks. _It's better this way. Better for him to hate me and fear me like everyone else, I don't want to see his pity. I don't want him to care because I'm injured. I want him to care because –_ but Regina isn't willing to even admit to herself silently that she wants him, or anyone for that matter, to care for her at all.

"Why must you do this?" Robin asks her in a soft voice.

"Because, it's who I am," she lashes out, a sickening feeling invading her stomach as she recognizes hurt in his eyes.

Regina's glare is full of fire, and she finds Robin's gaze to be just as intense.

"Deep down, I don't think you really believe that." His words smart because she knows they're weighted with truth, but instead of telling him that she snaps back as she always does.

"You don't know me," she says, grinding her teeth together.

Robin looks into her eyes. _Getting close to her is like chasing after the wind_, he thinks.

Again, he reaches toward her. This time she doesn't stop him when he takes her injured arm gently in his hand and runs his fingers across her sleeve. Delicately, he slides it up away from the deep scratch on her arm.

"Well, maybe, I'd like the pleasure of getting to know you, M'lady," Robin says.

That's when he sees it. The smallest beginnings of a smirk pull at the sides of her intoxicating lips, and just as quickly the smirk is smothered by her usual scowl.

"Maybe, if you're lucky, thief," she says, looking away but not removing her arm from his grasp as he begins to clean her wound.

**Disclaimer: not mine**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Happy reading! XOXO, Jess**

* * *

_Wolves and Wild Flowers_

Regina wakes up to the calming sound of rain pitter-pattering on her canvas tent. It begins as a whisper – light and playful. Wind huffs, rising up, stirs the entrance flap, and an unwelcome, cold air makes her shiver. She lies in bed and listens to thunder rumbling in the distance and the crescendo of forest leaves rustling. Two days – her baby has been gone for two days, and it's agony. Her heart fills with despair, and rain seems to beat down harder.

The sound deafens, and she closes her eyes and listens to the unrelenting downpour. She pictures herself washing away with the force of it, imagines the water trickling, and flowing, and pushing debris, and gravel, and pieces of fallen logs to the river. She knows at the rate the sky is opening up that it'll overflow soon, uproot trees, and create mudslides, but she also knows that when the sun finally peaks its way out from behind the stormy gray clouds and the water settles, it'll bring life to the forest. And if anything, she's happy it gives her an excuse to stay in her tent, to hide away for a little bit longer from the non stop pestering of Snow's questions, concern and pouty eyes that make Regina feel like she kicked a puppy.

Snow drips with hopefulness and encouragement. It makes her want to vomit. There doesn't seem to be anything that can crush that infuriating girl's spirit. Regina thinks about everything they've been through just to end up right back where they started. They both have lost their parents. Eva and Leopold, Cora and Henry. She lost Daniel. Snow lost Johanna. They both lost Graham – a particularly sharp pang of guilt irritates her heart at that one, but she doesn't allow it to consume her. She's already drowning under so many other emotions. Countless murders, multiple attempts on her life and Snow's. A dark curse, betrayal, Neverland and Pan. Not even being separated from her husband with false memories deterred Snow's spirit, not for long anyway. And, here she is separated from her daughter for a second time, and she still keeps urging Regina to accept their new fate and _live_ her life. But really, Regina just wants time to process her grief and anger and heartache because there's a part of her that's terrified she'll go back to the way she was before.

She's not blind to her own misgivings. She knows she has an awful temper, knows she's quick to anger and slow to forgive. She knows what she's like, knows what she's done in order to protect herself from loving again, from hurting again. She knows what her nasty habits are. But Henry, she'd been surprised by how deeply and quickly she loved him, and he slowly started to soften her edges. Before him, she fed rage and mistrust for years, and now without him she's not sure she knows how to live any other way.

Regina groans and buries her head in the crook of her arm. The worst part is it's all her fault. She cast the first curse, and she had to pay the price for being angry, for seeking revenge, for not choosing a different path at a tavern long ago. It devastates her that she has no one else to blame for this disastrous outcome. She's responsible, and it makes her want to scream out at the injustice of it all. Hasn't she suffered enough? What crueler price is there to pay than fighting your whole life to find the thing you love most just so that you'll have to give it up in the end?

_All magic comes with a price, dearie. _If her mentor were still alive, she'd punch him in the face. No magic, no purple smoke, just one "full force of her body, draws blood and bruises her knuckles" punch. But he's not here, and now she has to live with the fact that she's stuck in a realm without her son, stuck in a land and what feels like an alternate universe with Snow and David.

Burrowing deeper into the winter furs Robin brought back to her tent after tending to her wounds last night, Regina's thoughts drift to the thief – something, it seems, she's been doing since the moment they met. She doesn't know what it is about him, but he has a way of getting under her skin, at catching her in vulnerable moments off guard. Her arm still aches from her wound, and her cheek is certainly tender. It looks awful, but she knows it'd be far worse if he hadn't brought her that salve and helped clean dirt out of her cuts. She needs to be more careful; she's already let him see more of her than she'd normally be willing.

"Thief," Regina mumbles, before groaning and throwing back the heavy fur.

Robin may have stolen from her carriages and castle treasury, but she will not let him steal his way into her thoughts.

She pushes herself out of her bedroll and dresses for another day on the road. They leave for his camp this morning, and she needs to get ready, regardless of whether or not this rain wants to stop.

* * *

Robin truly tries hard not to think of her, tries not to remember her tears or her sass or her wit. He attempts to not picture her holding Roland in her arms while he laughs, tries hard not to see the way she rubbed her nose lightly against his son's. But he fails miserably. It surprises him, the way she is with his boy, but he learned long ago not to judge a person based off someone else's word, and so far he's been pleased with what he's discovered about Regina.

She doesn't appear to be the Evil Queen he heard stories about, the one who placed wanted poster of his face up all over this kingdom and into the next. She doesn't look like someone who would approve of the behavior of the Black Knights or who would burn down villages just to chase after a princess. Her words may be sharp, and she may be quick to anger, but below the surface he sees kind eyes, a woman who cares enough to calm a child's fears when they think they've done something wrong. Ever since he laid eyes on Regina in the forest, she has consumed his waking thoughts. But, that doesn't seem to be enough, because his dreams last night were also plagued by the light moans she made while he cut her bindings, by the way her nipples peaked in the crisp, morning air. In his dreams, she lets him get closer to her, lets him see beyond the wall she's built up, and when he woke before dawn to rain and thunder and clouds, he immediately thought of her and how she was faring and whether or not she was already up, listening to nature's sounds like him.

He cuddles with Roland as thunder ricochets off the surrounding mountains and around Princess Snow White and Prince David's camp. They'd been kind enough to give him and his son a tent, asked someone named Leroy if he'd mind giving up his, so Robin and Roland could have their own, while he shared one with Doc and Little John. Robin insisted he and his boy would be fine, they didn't want to put anyone out, but Leroy grumbled, said something about whiskey, and all but shoved Robin toward the meager shelter.

He's grateful for that now, given the storm raging outside and Roland's fear of thunder and lighting. He rolls over and brushes Roland's hair away from his sleeping face and kisses him on the forehead. The rain has died down a bit; they'll need to get up soon.

They have a long journey ahead of them with the castle being a month away on foot. He's glad he sent Friar Tuck back to camp yesterday so he and the remaining Merry Men could go ahead to their next meeting point. They need to secure more provisions for Regina, Snow and David's quite large caravan.

"Good morning, my boy," Robin whispers into Roland's ear while rubbing his calloused hand over his little back. "Another day for adventure …"

"Mmm … 'nother day for mischief," Roland sweetly whines, still tired from all the excitement of meeting his first queen yesterday. "Papa?" he yawns, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, Roland," Robin smiles, "Another day for mischief, but not too much. Do you remember where we're going today?" He thinks about the two-day trek awaiting them before they meet up on the north ridge of the forest with his band of men.

Roland rubs his little eyes again with the palms of his hands and furrows his brow. He scratches the back of his head and his eyes widen in realization, "With da Queen! With 'Gina!"

"I suppose she's coming, too," Robin laughs, mussing up his son's hair. "But that's not all. We're helping everyone get back to their castle. Would you like to help?"

"Yes!" Roland shouts, scrambling out from under the covers on all fours. "I'm 'Gina's knight. I hafta help!" Last bits of sleep forgotten in his excitement.

"Well, alright then. We mustn't keep the Queen waiting," Robin states, helping Roland put on his boots before he slips on his own, picks him up and hoists him onto his shoulders. "Lets go," Robin echoes Roland's exuberance and ducks out of the tent.

By the time midday comes, they're deep within the canopy of the forest. Sunlight flickers between branches, and Robin listens as a few squirrels jump from limb to limb above them. Sweat clings to his tunic and his thoughts wander, musing over ways to approach Regina. He hasn't spoken to her since he treated her injuries last night, and he swears she's avoiding eye contact with him. Every so often, he catches her staring out of the corner of his eye, but whenever he turns to look, her attention is focused forward. Roland scampers ahead of him, chasing after imaginary beasts he can fell with his imaginary bow and arrow – oblivious to his papa's internal dilemma. Robin wants to talk to her, wants to know more about her, maybe then he'll have a better understanding of why he feels drawn to her.

"Roland, not too far," Robin calls as his son breaks away from the group a little.

Regina turns her focus away from the conversation she's having with Snow as they walk in tandem. The forest is quiet, settled and calm after the torrential downpour earlier this morning. The ground is soggy under her boots, and air is refreshing and light.

"So what do you think of our new friend?" Regina asks Snow, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. "Can we trust him? He is a thief?"

"Are you asking me that question, because you really want to know if I trust him, or because you're trying to convince yourself not to?"

Regina snaps her head back to look at her former archenemy. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, come on, Regina. I saw the way you sauntered into camp yesterday, swaying your hips back and forth," Snow accuses. "You were pleased with yourself."

"I'd hardly say I was pleased," Regina throws back.

"Sure, whatever you want to tell yourself. Besides, even if he is a _thief, _think of it from his perspective. How do you think he looks at you?" Snow replies before smirking. "And, didn't he prove himself yesterday by bringing you back to us? I still think it's awful what happened. You know, you're not indestructible."

Seeing Regina return to camp, clearly beaten up and injured, disturbed Snow more than she thought it would.

"Point taken," Regina rolls her eyes. "And, I know."

"I don't think you do," Snow snorts, crossing her arms over her chest as they keep pace.

"Why do you even care about what happens to me?" Regina asks, confused.

"Because, other than Charming," Snow begins, "you are the only person I have left that I consider family."

"I'm pretty sure trying to kill you disqualifies me as your stepmother, dear," Regina asserts.

"I know, but I've known you longer than I've known anyone. And, as terrible as _we _both were to each other, I never really gave up hope on us."

Regina scoffs. "You're insufferable, you know that right?"

"I thought I was a naïve, little princess?" Snow counters with a comment Regina threw her way during their fight in Neverland – a conversation that now feels like a lifetime ago.

"That, too," Regina smirks and looks over her shoulder again.

"He's pretty cute, mhm?" Snow asks with raised eyebrows.

"He smells like forest," Regina retorts, her eyes following Roland as he comes to walk in between her and Snow.

"Hi 'Gina," he smiles a big dimpled grin and grabs her hand.

"Hello, Roland," Regina's eyes widen at his boldness. Snow seems just as equally surprised.

Robin watches as Roland walks between Regina and the princess. His boy has taken a fancy to following the Queen around like a little shadow, never wanting to be far away from her side. It's a sight to behold for Robin. His son has never warmed to strangers so quickly. He's often shy and quiet, and usually it takes one or two bribes in order for him to ease out of his shell. Yet, like his father, it appears he's found something truly enchanting about Regina. He's distracted by Roland's shouts of glee, watches closely as he, every now and then, asks Regina questions, to which she answers with an air of hesitance when she catches anyone else watching them. Twice, she smiles down at his son, and Robin sees her purposely holding herself back from him. Roland lets go of her hand and skips ahead again, looking over his shoulder and smiling at her.

Robin doesn't have much more time to think about it though, when the air shifts suddenly and the shrill shriek of a flying beast swoops overhead.

"Incoming!" Neal yells, while everyone either draws a blade or readies their bow.

Robin does neither, instead he frantically gazes around, trying to put his eyes on his son, who is lost in the shadows of their caravan. The beast shrieks again, and his breath leaves him in a whoosh when he spots where it's headed.

"Papa!" Roland shouts, terrified and paralyzed in place. "'Gina!"

Robin calls to his son and pushes between those standing in his way. Desperation unlike any he's ever felt before fills him, and he screams again, "Roland!"

Regina, without hesitation, runs to Roland and scoops him up and out of the way of the flying creature. Holding him fiercely to her, she quickly spins around and scans the sky. She zeroes in on the beast, driving toward them again, and places Roland protectively on the ground behind her, blocking his body with hers.

"Not so fast," her voice bellows in a deathly calm manner as she waves her hand through the air and the simian transforms into something small and fluffy.

She bends down to pick it up and kneels in front of Roland. He immediately throws his little arms around her and buries his face into her neck; the force of it requires her to brace herself with one hand on the floor behind her.

"Roland," Robin sighs in relief as he sprints to him and Regina. She stands up, holding Roland in her arms, and passes him to Robin who hugs him urgently.

"See not so scary, and now you have a new toy," Regina soothes, rubbing circles on Roland's back as Robin holds him. He stares at her, mouth opened, brow furrowed. He can't focus on much else around them, but he hears each slow inhale and exhale of breath that leaves her, smells the lavender oil on her skin again, feels Roland quivering in his arms, and he only thinks one thing: she saved his son.

Robin forces words past the painful lump in his throat. "Thank you," he breathes.

Regina looks up from checking on Roland, and her brown eyes meet his blue, and they hold each other's gazes for a long moment. She nods and it renders him speechless, his emotions getting the better of him. He squeezes Roland closer as everyone gathers around him and Regina. She drops her hand away from Roland's back, realizing how intimate they must look. She takes a few steps away from him.

"What the hell was that thing?" Charming demands as his eyes rake over the sky above.

Robin answers David. "The same kind of beast that attacked me and Regina yesterday."

"Wait, what?" Snow frowns. "When were you attacked?"

Robin's eyes widen and he realizes Regina hasn't told them about their first meeting in the crisp, dark of morning like he had with his men. He's not exactly sure what to say, but he doesn't have to worry about it, because Regina answers for them.

"It was yesterday before any of you were awake. I was down by the river …" Regina explains, trying to think of something to say while leaving out details she didn't want anyone else to know.

"And, I happened upon her while I was hunting. Shortly after, we were attached. I needed to get back to my men and the Queen needed to return to your camp. It was chance that we met again."

"Indeed," Regina grins, thankful he didn't tell them about how he found her with her heart in her hand.

"Okay, so now that we've established that you knew where the river was and still got lost fetching that bucket of water, can we focus on …" Leroy points toward the stuffed animal Roland is holding. "That. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looked an awful lot like a monkey."

Charming's voice is full of disbelief. "A monkey with wings?"

Robin notices as Regina's eye grow wide. "Yes, that's it. That's exactly what it was," she agrees, her voice filled with a dawning comprehension.

"Okay, you look like you've seen them before," Neal says, uneasily as he meets the Regina's eyes.

"That's because we have, in stories and movies back in Storybrooke," Belle defends Regina, which shocks her, and addresses Neal and the rest of the group.

"And if you remember, there's only one land that has creatures like that – Oz."

"Oz?" Snow gives Regina a look of disbelief. "That's real, too?"

"Bookworm is right," Regina glances from Belle to Snow. "It's very real. The question is, 'What are they doing here in the Enchanted Forest?'"

"I believe I can help with that, Milady," Robin interrupts. "Not long before you arrived, my men and I started hearing rumors about a witch terrorizing the land. Now, we're not sure exactly where she's taken up residence, but we thought perhaps she might be at your castle. That's why we offered our services. It's still a month away, which gives us time to come up with a proper strategy. I'm not too keen on the fact that this is twice now, we've been attacked in my forest."

"Flying monkeys. Oz. It must be the Wicked Witch," Regina growls. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I didn't say anything because we still weren't sure if the rumors were true. Yesterday was the first time I laid eyes on a beast such as this, and I wanted to make sure before speculating. Now that you've said it's the Wicked Witch, we can strategize more accordingly."

"We talking east or west?" Leroy asks.

"Does it matter? Neither one sounds good," Snow replies.

"Well, one, you drop a house on. The other, you toss a bucket of water at," Leroy deadpans, earning a reluctant nod from the princess.

"So, Regina, do we even have to ask? What did you do to her?" David accuses.

Robin watches the exchange between the two of them. The accusation in the man's voice bothers Robin greatly, but he remains quiet.

Regina glares at him. "It's nice to know some things never change. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've never met her."

Charming's eyebrows rise into his hairline. "This isn't a personal vendetta? Shocking. Okay, then, it looks like we'll need to head to your camp anyway, Robin, so we can arm up, and once we have a better idea of what's been going on, we can figure out what this witch really wants."

It's late in the day, when they finally meet Robin's men on the north ridge of the forest a day later. They're all exhausted, unused to walking miles and miles each day having grown accustomed to driving and riding bikes throughout their small town in Maine. Robin gives proper introductions and helps the newcomers set up their tents; he begins to collect kindling for a fire with Roland. Regina watches them from a far.

"Girl," Granny calls to her. "Help me with this, will you?" She motions to the pot she's hefting off the ground.

"Do I look like a servant to you?" Regina purses her lips.

"You look like someone with free hands, now get over here," the old woman demands.

The only person in Storybrooke who'd ever been able to meet every one of Regina's snarky comments with one of her own was Granny. And, she'd never tell her, but she always appreciated it and the way she _mothered_ her.

"It's not like I have anything better to do," Regina quips, stalking over to her, and helps move pots and pans for preparing supper.

Granny drags a brown sack of carrots and potatoes next to the cauldron, pulls out a knife and begins to chop. She nicks her thumb and hisses.

"Give me that," Regina stretches her hand out for the blade. "I don't want your blood anywhere near my food. It's bound to turn us all into man-eating wolves."

Granny chuckles. "I'd have to bite you, and something tells me neither one of us would like that, girl."

Regina glares at her as a smile plays at the corner of her mouth; she sits down, moves her cloak out of the way and begins to peel the skin off potatoes. Thirty minutes later, the brown sack is empty on the floor, and Regina plops the last of the vegetables into the now boiling cauldron of water.

She loves cooking. It wasn't something she'd ever been able to do when she was younger; her mother always said it was beneath her. It wasn't something she'd ever been able to do as Queen; meals were laid out well before she arrived, and she was never allowed in the kitchen. So when she first woke up in Storybrooke, it was one of the first things she taught herself. She learned through experimentation, through studying recipes and honing her skills. Puff pastries stuffed with feta and caramelized onions. Brown butter and sage butternut squash risotto. Layered lasagnas with basil, oregano and garlic. She loves all of it, loves creating things from scratch without the use of magic. She enjoys the rhythm of it, kneading dough with her fingers to make bread, pressing patties together to make Henry's favorite hamburgers, mixing batter for their pancake breakfasts.

Cooking calms and soothes her in ways magic never could, in ways riding never could after Daniel died.

"Well, isn't this lovely. You sure that's such a good idea," a young man sneers, "Letting her cut and peel potatoes. She might poison us. Isn't that your specialty, your majesty?" His words drip with malice.

Regina's gaze meets his. She recognizes him as one of the boys who knocked her out, dragged her back to Robin's camp, and tied her up.

"I prefer to use apples, dear," Regina stands up from where she's sitting on the ground, she brushes dirt off her legs, and rights herself, squaring her shoulders, and Granny watches as her expression twists. She'd been so open and different just moments before, so much more like the young girl she saw on the day King Leopold made Regina his wife.

The boy scoffs. "They believe you've changed, but I know better. You ruin lives, you hurt people," the boy bites, coldly. "It doesn't matter what you do or what you say, you will always be a monster."

"Alec!" Robin shouts, and Regina whirls around to look at him. She didn't hear him walk up behind her. "That's enough."

"No, he's right," Regina laughs darkly. She hasn't stopped hurting people since she became Queen, since she started using magic, and the price she paid for that was her soul, her father, and her son. She didn't need Robin's pity, didn't need him to protect her. She's been doing that just fine on her own.

Regina waves her hand and the cauldron behind her stops boiling. "Dinner's ready," she hisses, pushes past Robin and begins to make her way toward her tent.

"Regina, wait," he grabs her elbow, forcing her to look back at him. "It's not true. I don't believe that. He doesn't know you."

Regina yanks her arm away from his hand; she misses his touch instantly and silently berates herself before shouting that Robin doesn't know her either.

"No, but I would like to," he offers, and again Regina doesn't understand him. Her eyes drift closed, and she pushes him further away from her.

"No, you really wouldn't," she sighs and stalks away. He tries to follow her, but Granny stops him.

"I'll go. You two call the rest for supper," Granny points and, as she walks by Alec, she wallops him in the back of the head. "You idiot."

Granny finds Regina leaning against a tree near her tent. She's facing away from camp, arms wrapped around her, hair falling in light waves down her back.

"He's just trying to help, you know," Granny says, wiping a wooden spoon off on her apron, her glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, eyes staring at Regina over the metal frames with a knowing look.

_Lord, this girl is stubborn,_ she thinks. But, she knew her, knew the girl Regina used to be right at the beginning of her reign. Not many people do, not many people wanted to look with open eyes during the coronation. They wanted to see the _mask_, not the truth hiding behind it. Granny first heard about the young commoner, King Leopold _proposed to_, when she was in the market buying flour and arrows. Townsfolk whispered about it for days. _A new queen, one of their own. _No one mentioned she was only 17 – only a few years older than her Ruby, a few years older than Snow – the king almost three times her age.

"I don't want his help," Regina whines, "And, shouldn't you be more concerned about your granddaughter and Whale? I'm surprised this camp isn't already overrun by a litter."

Granny snorts. "You've grown, you know," she ignores Regina's snarky remark and keeps talking. "That boy back there, the Evil Queen I used to know, she wouldn't have flinched the way you did."

"No, she'd have killed him, and if he –"

"Exactly. He'd be dead; she'd have broken his neck or turned him into a cockroach and crushed him with the heel of her boot without even thinking. She wouldn't have walked away. _You did._ That means something, Regina."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Granny objects, pops her knuckles and rolls her head to the side to crack her neck. "I'd say it means a lot, especially to that boy who doesn't know what the _real_ Evil Queen looks like."

"Good thing I made the cricket our town therapist. You're terrible at this," Regina retorts. "Stick to serving coffee, you're good at that."

"And, you're good at pushing people away, girl. Even when, all they want to do is help you. Don't make the same mistakes, Regina," Granny pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "Now, when you're done sulking, you can come back to the fire."

"You're giving me orders now?" Regina snaps.

"Just advice, girl. Take it or leave it."

Supper is more of a celebration than anything else, an excuse for Robin's men to dance and drink and do what they do best – be merry. Ale and meat and potatoes are passed around on small wooden plates. Food and drink are consumed, laughter is heard round camp, and everyone seems to be getting along. Even Regina appears to be having a relatively good time. It's not very obvious, the way she sits still on her section of log, knees together, back straight and hair pulled over her shoulder, but Robin sees the corners of her mouth inching up a little here and there until she finally excuses herself and walks off into the forest. He doesn't think she'll go far, probably just enough to clear her head. By now, many either passed out around the fire or turned in for the night.

Roland yawns in Robin's lap, his little fists clinging to his papa's shirt. There are only a few of them around the fire now, conversations low and not about anything particularly intriguing. Crickets and night frogs chirp in the distance and an owl or two hoot back and forth.

"Well, I think it's someone's bed time," Robin whispers, rubbing his thumb up and down his son's cheek. "What do you think, my boy?"

"Not yet, Papa," Roland mumbles, trying to stifle another yawn. "I not that tired."

"Hmm, I beg to differ," Robin's voice is husky and soothes his weary child. He stands, shifting Roland's little body in his arms so he can hold him more securely. "Come on."

It doesn't take any convincing. Years of putting his boy to sleep has taught him how to rock him ever so slightly, how to bounce a little on his heels, how to soothe with his voice. Moments like these are Robin's favorite, getting to carry Roland in his arms after a long day until his eyes drift closed and the land of dreams takes him. It's in these moments, he hauls Roland up and lays his tiny head on his shoulder. His boy usually sucks him thumb, murmurs a few words so softly he can't understand them, and snuggles closer into his papa's warm embrace.

Robin kneels beside the bed he shares with his lad, pulls back the covers with one hand, and tucks him in safely. He's about to leave, when Roland quietly says, "wait, Papa."

"What is Roland? It's time for you to sleep now, my boy," Robin crouches beside him.

"Mhm," Roland sighs, his eyes closed, he yawns and points. "'Gina," he says.

A line creases on Robin's brown. "What?"

"Fowers, for 'Gina," Roland points again to the tiny table in their tent. "Can you give them to her, Papa? Say fank you. Twied to stay up and give dem to her," the tiny tot yawns, "Can you fank 'Gina for Mo Mo and for saving me?" Roland hugs the stuffed, little monkey Regina conjured for him and says, "Luv you, Papa."

"I love you, too, my boy."

Robin leaves their tent with the small bundle of flowers in his hand. He walks to the fire and kneels down in front of the campfire in the dark stillness of the forest. Robin stares for a long moment into the glowing embers, while thumbing the petals in his hand. Then, after a quick shake of his head, he turns, picks up a couple of logs and tosses them into the pit. He watches, almost mesmerized, as the flames lick around the thick branches. The bark-covering curls in the intense heat, the edges burn brilliant red, while small pockets of air pop and spit sparks into the surrounding darkness.

"What's with the flowers?" Little John inquires curiously.

"Roland picked them for Regina," Robin clears his throat. "For the Queen. He asked me to give them to her as a thank you."

Each flying ember reminds him of a miniature fireball, and he's suddenly assailed by his vivid memory of Regina by the river, broken and moments away from burying her heart. He's been trying to convince himself that he intervened only to help save her from herself, but Robin knows better. He felt drawn to that side of the forest that morning, pulled from sleep by something far more bewitching at work, something that caused him to rise before everyone else in his camp. He could still picture the sorrow in her eyes – the unadulterated heartbreak – and the sound of her sobs as she looked toward the heavens and pulled the beating heart from her chest. In that moment, Robin's breath left him, and he moved as if it was not of his own volition, as if his life depending upon saving her.

"Robin, be careful. I know what you're doing, trying to rationalize why you should help her, but –"

"But, what? John. You didn't see her out there in the woods by herself. You didn't see the look in her eyes," Robin argues. "It's not something one easily forgets."

A frown mars his face as he recalls that moment from almost a week ago. Regina's words had just been so typical of a royal, and yet he saw the way her tears flowed despite the threats and insults she threw his way. He saw the pain and anger in her eyes, heard the hopelessness in her voice. He stood there before her, captivated by her beauty and her shattered spirit. He listened to what she was shouting and tuned into what she left unsaid. For him it had been a moment of profound realization – the first time that he'd consciously acknowledged just how deeply heartbroken the _Evil_ Queen really was. A moment of awareness that was both stunning and painful in its intensity, because he knew then that her grief wasn't recent. No, it was deeper and hidden behind a mask she used as a shield. A shield that protected her from unseeing eyes and cruelty, but it didn't protect her from him.

Taking a deep breath, Robin drags his eyes away from the dancing flames and his gaze drifts across the camp. He catches a glimpse of her as she walks behind rows of tents. Her arms are crossed in front of her, holding her cloak tightly to her. He notices she does that when she's uncomfortable. She did it on the road while talking to Snow, did it again when talking to Roland. He sighs, tilting his head back, he looks up at the blanket of stars twinkling in the night sky and tries to let their beauty ease his mind. It's not working. Quieting his thoughts for a moment, he searches the heavens. This novel vantage point gives him a unique point of view, and he wipes his hand over his face at the foolish idea running through his head.

While Robin tries to rein in his galloping heartbeat and regain some measure of control, his eyes drift down the line to Regina's tent as she disappears into it. He hates that she was affected by Alec's idiotic remarks, wishes she thought more highly of herself, but obviously she doesn't. It shows in the way she does or doesn't take care of herself, lets wounds fester and the words of others sting.

"Uhhh," Robin groans, making up his mind. He pushes himself to his feet and consciously reminds himself to inhale and exhale. Unable to drag his eyes away from his destination, he speaks in a gruff whisper to his friend across from him. "John, please listen for Roland."

John's brow furrows as he looks toward Robin's tent where he knows the toddler sleeps. "Where are you going?"

"I need to speak with the Queen," Robin answers.

John's lips press sternly together in what Robin knows is an attempt to keep his thoughts to himself, but his mate immediately follows with a response. "Just remember who she _is_."

Robin's burns with something he hasn't felt in a very long time and honestly answers his second in command. "_She_ is the woman who saved my son. Never forget that, my friend. For I certainly never will."

He didn't meant to hurt her, but he knows he did. He was so caught up in helping and making room for their new guests in their camp that he hadn't really considered the opinions of his men and how having the _Evil Queen_ share living space with them would make them feel. He misjudged the animosity still plaguing some of their minds – pure and simple. After Alec's comments when he tried to stop Regina from leaving, he saw anger flash in her eyes, and he knows she has every right to be angry with him. Maybe not so much with words, but mostly in his relentless persistence to try and make _this _work. She hadn't liked the way he tried to defend her, and now he felt like he owed her an apology.

Robin glances around the mostly sleeping camp. He wishes it was earlier in the evening, because he doesn't want to wake her if she's already in bed, but he made a promise to Roland. Standing outside her tent, he calls out to her softly.

"Milady? Are you still awake?" Robin asks, he hears her mumble back a response, bites his bottom lip between his teeth, and steps into her quarters.

"Thief, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Regina sits on her bedroll with a single candle for light. One of her hands is combing a brush through her hair, while the other holds a cup of tea.

"Pleasure?" he muses. "I…" He steps forward and lets the tent flap close behind him. "I thought... I have something for you. Is this a good time?"

She clicks her tongue and chuckles. "I'm not even sure what that means anymore. Why don't you just say what you came here to say."

Rubbing his hand across his mouth, he sighs deeply and nods. "Alright, well I'm here for two reasons. One, I need to apologize. I understand you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I'm sorry if I keep getting in your way it's just… well, for the life of me, I can't figure out why, but I care about you."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Some half assed apology for a feeling you don't understand?" Regina looks down at the cup in her hand, the brush forgotten at her side.

"Ugh, no, that's not what I meant. I just meant that…" Robin sighs, "This isn't coming out as eloquently as I imagined. So I'm just going to offer you my apologies and say I do _care_ about you."

A small smile brightens her face and her shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. She enjoys make him squirm. "Apology accepted."

He narrows his eyes. "You're laughing at me?"

"Nooo, I just find it hard to believe that you actually care, we've only just met."

"You seem to have a problem with that. Believing in people."

She hums her agreement. "So it seems. The second?"

"Second?" Shaking his head, he clears his throat, "Oh, right, these are for you?"

He brings his arm out from behind his back and holds out a bouquet of wild flowers. She studies him for a moment, and then, reaching out, she begins to ask, "What…"

"They're not from me, Milady," he corrects, the flowers still in his hand. "They're from Roland. He wanted you to have those for the toy. As a thank you. Poor lad tried to stay up and wait for you, but it got rather late."

Regina takes a shaky breath. "I don't know what to say."

"That'll be a first." His eyes flicker to her, and she raises her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

Holding up his hand, he assures with a smile, "A jest, your majesty."

Regina sets her cup down, and extends her hand to take the little bouquet.

When the petals touch her fingers, Robin says, "Let's make a pact, you and I."

"About what?"

"Friendship," He smiles.

Hesitantly, she questions, "friendship?"

Robin kneels down beside her and takes her free hand in his. "Believe me, when I say I trust you and that I _believe_ in you. I may not know much about you, Regina, but I know above all else that you are a strong, confident woman. You prefer the quietness of solitude. But I also know that you are hurting, very much. It pains me to see it. I offer you my friendship, Milady."

She looks down at their clasped hands and notices that his gaze follows hers.

He squeezes her hand and strokes his thumb across her knuckles. "I bid you goodnight, Regina."

From his simple touch, warmth spreads to her cheeks and steals her breath away. She finds that she doesn't want to let go of him, and, for just this once, she decides not to. Squeezing his fingers back, she begins, "I…"

Softly, he interrupts, "I know how hard this must be for you. Not just being the queen, but trying to blend a bunch of rogues into the ranks of thieves while battling flying beasts and a wicked witch. I want you to know that you're not alone. I'm with you every step of the way."

She meets his eyes and her heart melts at the sincerity and loyalty she see there. "You're a remarkable man, Robin. For a thief that is."

"Thank you." He squeezes her hand again and in a lighter tone suggests, "What do you say to perhaps a walk with Roland and I tomorrow?"

"You're pushing your luck, thief," Regina states, looking down at the flowers in her hand, "But, I'd like that. Not for you. For Roland."

"I'll take what I can get, Milady." He brings her hand up to his lips and places a chaste kiss on her knuckles. "Goodnight, Regina."

"Goodnight." She retracts her hand and gives him a bemused smile as he turns and leaves.

As she tries to fall asleep later that night, she rubs her knuckles where his lips had brushed across her hand. They tingle, and she chuckles at the brief notion that she might not want to wash her hand tomorrow. The evening definitely didn't turn out how she expected.

* * *

**Disclaimer: not mine**


	5. Chapter 5

The Weeping and Expectations

_A Black Hollow Deep Within the Boundaries of Sherwood Forest_

Skeletal trees stretch up toward the mid afternoon sky. Their branches like fingers reaching for the last bit of sunshine as the sun slowly sets in the west. Far above the canopy of Sherwood Forest, miles and miles away from Robin and Regina, Snow and her Charming, and their company of men and dwarves, the sky is a pale gray, and a few clouds paint the thick, humid air. The wind howls and blows bitterly past dying trees, it dances with the leaves and rips them unwillingly from wooden limbs, forced to settle on the frigid, winter ground.

The witch, Mortianna, hunches over in the dirt, peels away bark from the side of a pine, and nabs beetles and larvae away from the timber. She escaped the pull of the first curse, hunkered away in her hovel, tucked in a corner of Sherwood known as the Weeping Woods – a dark and dank place, filled with unmentionables and unwanted, nameless and faceless creatures with teeth that drip with venom and eyes that feed on fear and doubt. The floor is damp and stagnant with the odor of decomposing flesh, flora and fauna.

Mortianna's hair is stringy and white like the dust of bones, hands weathered and leathery, eyes rimmed with red and pupils a beady obsidian. She creeps through shadow and shade, and creatures around her seem to cringe in fear beneath the translucent mist that covers the forest floor. On this quiet day, the animals still in silence. No being or insect dare shutter save for the carrion vultures who circle overhead, screaming for morsels. The flowers hide in their buds under topsoil, waiting for their day of freedom. A paranormal presence lurks like the hand of the devil, feeding off living organisms trying to cling to light.

Not far in the distance, a few twigs snap. Their sharp sound echoes throughout the destitute forest, and Mortianna whips her crooked neck around faster than one might think she's able for someone who looks so feeble and decrepit. It's been a long time since a man or woman other than her has disturbed this eerie part of the woods. Brittle leaves break under the pressure of footsteps and ragged breathing. Whatever or whoever it is, they slowly approach. She waits to see where the noises come from, holds her breath in anticipation, knows what foul things lurk in the shadows of trees much like herself.

No one is foolish enough to be caught out when the sun is at its weakest this close to the winding peaks and ogre territory, when light can't penetrate dark and keep evil at bay. She's lucky no one has ventured this way so far – left her alone to her predictions and visions and minor spells. She's not as powerful or wicked as others who cast this realm into darkness, but she can manipulate the elements, knows that sometimes a little spit and a little blood go a long way when one needs foresight.

Mortianna commences collecting her specimens and ingredients for another ghastly potion, when she hears the crack of a stick breaking for the second time yards away from her. She turns and glares, reaching into her basket for the crude dagger buried beneath fungi and slugs.

"Well, well, well. The prodigal son returns," she cackles, hoisting herself up off the ground, her bones creak and a shabby, midnight cloak falls around her.

* * *

A man steps determinedly out of shadow. It's been days since he snuck away from the company of the Evil Queen, Prince and Princess, days since he greedily fed his addiction with whiskey and ale, days since he slept on anything but dirt and rock, and he knows he's close to his destination.

The stench of boils and musk and death oppresses the air. The hill beneath him feels never-ending, but he knows this path well, has trudged over brooks and streams and fallen logs enough times as a child with his younger brother to navigate without really looking. They explored these forests foolishly unafraid of stories their mother grilled into them, hoping to convince them to stay on the main road and away from ancient ruins and things that go bump in the night. But, as boys tend to do, they ignored their mother's warnings and made the Weeping their _kingdom_.

He hasn't forgotten when gallivanting around in these woods turned into something more for him – a way to escape his father's unrelenting fists, to block out his mother's pleas and hot tears.

The back of his leg muscles burn and his breath wheezes out in harsh, painful jabs. Dirt and sweat mingle together on his brow each time he brushes his hand over his face to rid himself of salty proof that a life in Storybrooke has made him lazy. A layer of grim mars his strong features.

The man's feet feel the change first as the ground eases off and becomes level again. The forest is less dense on this side of the mountain, fragile and broken just the way he remembers it. Eventually, he and his little brother grew apart, separated by moral convictions, his hate for the station they were bound to, and his brother's want to serve their king. And they stopped coming to the Weeping together. He hadn't though.

He left their home behind in a fit of fury, when he was only twenty and one – his brother long gone by then fighting a war that wasn't theirs. He made for the hollow in the woods that would take him to the spot in the forest they laid claim to once upon a time. He kept venturing further and further in, deeper and deeper until he stumbled upon a dwelling at the base of a mountain with broken shutters, termite eaten shingles and brown shrubbery. It was a miserable sight and his curiosity seized him.

One of the stories his mother told him time and time again as a lad was about a hag who lived in these woods, who drank the blood of children and burnt offerings in pits of tar. But he never believed her tale to be anything more than worry and fear, based off superstition. He learned that day he'd been wrong. There was a witch that lived in the wood, and she was just as frightful and gruesome as his mother described. But the crone had also been his salvation.

Grunting under the heat of the afternoon, he pushes on and shivers as the mist around him now licks at his skin, tasting for light. He grins smugly, knowing the vapor won't find what it's looking for. He has no light to give, he's as dark as they come, tainted by greed and mal intent and years of letting anger fester. He shakes off the fog and returns his attention forward.

He hears his familiar crone before he sees her.

"Well, well, well. The prodigal son returns," Mortianna croaks. "Tell me, has it been thirty years already?"

"You were right, the Evil Queen was forced to bring us back. Although, I'm not sure what good your vision did since I wasn't forewarned on how god awful the Queen's curse would be in that paltry realm," the man bites bitterly. "Thirty plus years, I was nothing but a snivelling drunk, and _she _did that to me, and _you_ allowed it. And, I still don't have what I wanted! That life was no better than the one I had here! What good is your magic if it can't guarantee me the outcome I seek?"

He stops a few feet in front of Mortianna, towers over her, but her posture grows taller and the insanity in her eyes makes him take one step back. She's just as terrifying as he remembers.

The witch sneers at him and wheels around, slowly hobbling down the other side of the hill.

"You know, when I found you stumbling outside my hovel, I said you didn't look much like your father," she retorts, gazing at him from head to toe. "You were such a lost, pathetic soul, drowning in self-pity and a ruin of your own making. But that was before you spent nights in a drunken stupor, before you joined Gisbourne and rallied an uprising to steal a title you thought you deserved, prior to your reunion with your duty bound brother."

A slight tremor begins in his hand, and he clenches his fist to make it stop. From experience, he knows the longer he goes without a drink, the worse his withdrawal will be.

"Now though, the resemblance is uncanny," Mortianna laughs shrilly, staring at his pasty complexion.

In anger, he stalks toward her, _he is nothing like his bastard father, _but with a cobra like agility she brings him to his knees with thoughts and force of will.

"Stop acting like a child," she snaps, releasing him. He coughs and bends over to catch his breath. "The fortress still stands and your men are waiting for you to return. In your absence, we rebuilt our ranks. The task made easier without our usual obstacles."

"You knew I'd be coming back," he chokes out savagely. "Why didn't you warn me of what I'd be facing? Why didn't you shield me from _her_ curse the same way you did yourself?"

"You ungrateful wretch, do not blame me for your misgivings. I did warn you, but you couldn't resist your precious tankers of ale. It was you and you alone who got yourself imprisoned in _her_ dungeons after acting like a fool. And in case you need reminding, I had no power in _her_ kingdom, and my dreams don't work that way. I do not call the visions, they call to me. And to quote your brother," she spits, cursing his relation. "_Timing is everything. _You shall see what your absence has wrought. We're finally ready. Now, pick yourself back up, your men know you're coming, but there's something you should know."

"What is it?" he grips sourly.

She lowers her eyes and her lips set in a firm line. "Locksley is here. His encampment, like the Weeping, lay outside the boundaries of the Evil Queen's curse. He and his band of thieves and outlaws camp somewhere in the woods, but their position seems to be undetectable. Even to me. It's protected by something or someone."

"Locksley? I wondered why our paths never crossed in Storybrooke," he echoes, fury and rage slowly builds within him.

"I can see you need a moment. Try to be a little more quiet, will you," Mortianna chastises him. "I and every other creature within a miles radius could hear your putrid breathing and clumsy feet. You might stumble loudly through the Weeping now, but you'll regain your stealth soon enough. Welcome home, Nottingham."

* * *

_Merry Men Camp_

Every morning for the last three days, Robin and Roland waited for Regina outside her tent with a hot biscuit and a wooden cup filled with goat milk. The biscuit courtesy of the archer, and the milk courtesy of the sweet, dimpled toddler. They ate together, conversed awkwardly about life in the Enchanted Forest and life in Regina's Storybrooke. Roland was oblivious to the tension between his papa and the Queen. Robin smiled goofy at Regina, and she nervously rolled her eyes and smiled back. They took walks like Robin suggested, but he never pushed her out of her comfort zone, never asked for anything more than she was willing to give. He didn't touch her either, quickly discovered she needed to be the one to cross that particular boundary first. In the quiet solitude of her tent, tending to her injuries, or rousing her out of unconsciousness after Jakan's attack were the last times he felt his skin brush up against hers. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so he gave her space. But, a phantom burn on his lips lingered where he last touched her knuckles. He knew the gestured was risky, but he wanted to offer her comfort and a show of good faith. He was grateful she didn't singe his mouth off with magic right then and there, but he could tell, even if she couldn't admit it, she quite enjoyed their playful back and forth. And, he quite liked making her blush.

Day four isn't any different. They sit together on a log near the fire pit. Robin slyly steals glances her way, and shifts his gaze whenever he thinks she's looking. He helps Roland wipe crumbs off his face and ruffles his hair, and Regina laughs because she isn't blind. She knows what he's doing. For a thief, he's not very subtle, but she doesn't mind. It pleases her a little, flutters her stomach, and subtly flushes her cheeks. They take another walk, much like the first one after their friendship pact in the quiet of her tent.

She still tries to be careful, still tries to remain a little bit guarded, but this man and his little boy are equally persistent and frustrating in their pursuit of her _friendship._ So the first day she relented, the second she caved, the third she sighed and accepted their breakfast, and on the fourth she looked for them.

The wind picks up a little as they stroll through the forest, plenty of space between them. Roland scampers ahead, lost in his world of make-believe, invites them to join every so often. And, they do for a little while, it even pulls long forgotten laugher up and out of Regina. It's the first genuine show of joy Robin has heard come from her lips, and it warms him. They play, and they run, and they bask in the sun as it filters through ancient branches. The archer watches as Roland's childlike antics and adorable quirks chip away at Regina's walls, and he's ever so grateful for his little boy.

"Papa, catch me," Roland shouts, tripping over his boots as he skips about.

Roland loves any game that involves running and hiding, but his favorite is tag. He has always played, and played, and played until his little legs could run no more, and Robin was happily forced to carry him.

"Papa, you can't get me," Roland taunts, and, with a fatherly roar, Robin chases after him. His child shrieks jubilantly and dashes as fast as he can in and out of trees, running in circles as Robin lumbers behind him, exaggerating his steps. Regina keeps walking at a slow pace and laughs, a smile spreads across her face and to her eyes. But, she doesn't join, content to let the two _children_ entertain themselves. That is, until Roland scurries over to her and hides in the folds of her cloak.

"Gina, don't let Papa get me," he giggles, clinging to her leg.

Robin isn't expecting it when she uncovers his tiny tot and lifts him into the air. Roland cheerfully screams, and he flies up and away from her grasp for just a second, air fluffs his curls out, and when he comes back down again, she twirls them around, they laugh and laugh, and Regina rubs her nose against his, and it triggers something in her. Robin registers the shift in her expression as her body freezes and stiffens; she sets Roland on the ground and takes a step back.

Robin frowns, and he tenses, edging toward Regina and his son. He's overly aware of the startled and shattered look on the Queen's face as she places one hand on her stomach and the other over her mouth. He knows he shouldn't, but he rests his hand on her arm to try to get her to look at him, but Regina reels backward at the burn of his touch, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply.

Confused, Roland inches closer and tries to grab her hand. Gina's face is wet and her eyes are crying, and he wants to help the way his papa comforts him when he's scared or sad. A hug or a kiss on his boo boos always cheers him up. But Regina doesn't have a scuffed knee that needs kissing or a nightmare that needs soothing; her pain is of the heart. Poor, little Roland can't possibly know or understand that in a fleeting moment guilt crashed down on Regina for enjoying time with a child that isn't her own. She reacts instinctively and raises her voice when she feels his hand tug on the bottom of her tunic.

Her words damage instantly, and Roland's devastated eyes mimic hers; it pulls a strangled sob from her throat, because the last thing she wants to do is hurt him. Regina watches as Robin picks his son up and wipes his thumb over the toddlers trembling lip. Disappointment flashes in his eyes when he looks at her, and she slips back into old habits in order to protect herself.

"What did you expect from the Evil Queen?" she snarls, and his brow furrows.

"Nothing," Robin calmly states. "But, I expect more from Regina."

"Yes, because you've known me long enough to have expectations already," she throws back at him sarcastically.

"Decency and kindness, at the very least toward children, shouldn't be expected, M'lady," Robin patiently replies. "They should be freely given."

They both walk off in opposite directions after that. Robin carries his upset son back to camp. Regina carries another regret further into the woods. She wanders for a while, until she breaks through a denser part of the forest and into a meadow. She takes a few more burdened steps into the clearing and ungracefully falls in a patch of field. Late autumn flowers bloom and dormant lemongrass sway in the light breeze, teasing wisps of her hair. Her cloak splays out around her, and she curls her legs closer to her body. Regina starts to shake, softly at first, until the reason she ruined her perfect afternoon with Robin and Roland assaults her violently.

Playing with Roland didn't dump nostalgia over her head like a bucket of ice water, but the feel of his nose against hers did.

Before she adopted Henry, she favored the aroma of crisp, red apples and cinnamon. After she held him for the first time, she fell in love with his fresh newborn smell and downy hair. She remembers the way he felt in her arms – precious baby fat and adorable stubby fingers – remembers playing tag with Henry in their backyard, remembers collapsing on the ground in a fit of giggles and full-bodied laughter, peppering kisses all over his five-year-old face as he gleefully squealed. And although Roland doesn't smell or look or sound like Henry, he's close enough in age to her most cherished moments with her little prince. The dimpled toddler's rosy cheeks and the tip of his nose brushing against hers brought memories crashing back.

She wishes she could hold her son, wants to hold him, needs to hold him, but she can't and her empty arms ache. Moments ago, she was perfectly content and forgot for just one second that beasts, monsters, and villains don't get happy endings. And, she is a monster, _believes_ she's a monster. She wasn't always. Regina knows that. But years of laying waste to entire villages, murdering countless victims, pursuing revenge and clinging to anger tainted the broken remains of her heart. Plenty repeatedly tell her she's incapable of change, no matter how many times they've given her the chance. She can pretend all she wants, but they know how she is, and who she will always be. And as much as she wants to believe she isn't a villain, when people tell you enough times that you're not good enough, soon you start to listen to them. Besides, how else can she rationalize the loss of her fiancé, a loveless arranged marriage, years of solitude, and her ability to make even pure, innocent Roland cry?

Regina shudders and rolls over to push herself off the ground, her silky hair cascades around her face, and a lone dark, violet flower with black pollen catches her eye and pauses her movements. Reaching out, she delicately breaks its stem between two of her fingers and sits up, tears welling in her eyes.

_Could it really be that simple?_

Regina twirls the tiny stem and thumbs the velvety petals, shimmering dust stains her fingertips, and salty drops trail down her cheeks and off her chin. She breathes out a sound somewhere between a cry and a sigh of relief. She can finally make the pain and hurting stop. She only needs a few more ingredients, and Regina knows exactly where to find them.

* * *

Day six of Regina and her company living among his men comes and goes before Robin sees her again on the seventh day. She steps coldly between his Merry Men and her people. No one approaches her, and she makes no move to speak or mingle with them, taking meals in her tent and disappearing into the woods from dusk till dawn. Proud and stubborn and head held high, Regina ignores everyone, even Roland, steering clear of his view and changing the course of her steps whenever she spots him. And Robin lets her, doesn't want her around his impressionable son until she cools off and understands that she can't lash out at people and let her emotions control her behavior. He, more than anyone, understands grief and deeply rooted turmoil, and he wants her to feel, encourages her to be angry and temperamental, because he knows that the only way she'll ever heal is let sorrow lick her wounds until they seal closed. But, he won't allow Roland to be hurt in the process.

Robin bends down and hoists his leather quiver over his shoulder. When his back straightens, Snow stands next to him and voices concern.

"I thought she was doing better, but she's distancing herself from us," Snow pauses. "I hate watching her torture herself."

"I'm curious. Why would you come to me with this knowledge instead of talking to her yourself, Princess?" Robin mutters, and she furrows her brow. "Surely there's someone closer to her that you trust more."

"I've seen the way you are with her," Snow postulates, shaking her head. "The way you steal glances in her direction when you think she's not looking, and she is, by the way, looking. I may not know exactly what Regina's thinking most of the time, but I do understand her enough to know that she doesn't open up easily to strangers, but for some reason, she's _open _with you. Now, it doesn't matter what I say or do, I haven't been able to convince her that everything is going to work out."

"Did you use those words precisely?" Robin questions, having stayed quiet throughout most of her monologue.

"Not _precisely_, but, yes. I told her everything would work out the way it's suppose to," Snow huffs.

"For someone who claims to understand Regina, I'm shocked you didn't think about the affect of your words," Robin grins sadly. He knows Snow means well. "If she never sees her son again, what will you say? If she's forced to live a life without him, will you tell her then that _everything works out the way it's suppose to_?"

Snow grimaces and opens her mouth to speak but no words come. Allan A Dale bumps into Robin as he throws more firewood next to the pit.

"If she hadn't tried to kill us so many times, I might be worried about her," Allan bites, sarcastically, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Maybe we should spend less time thinking about whether or not the _Queen_ is_sad_ and more about whether or not she plots to kill us for Jakan's attempt at kidnapping her. It's bad enough she helps with supper and prepares our meals, but now it seems our leader is wrapped around her little finger. Open your eyes, Robin. She's a monster. Put her in different clothes, leave the evil off her name, but it's no different than calling a mule a stallion. Just because you believe something, don't make it true."

The man's words are cruel, and the slip of his tongue is unfortunate given that Regina chooses that very moment to clear her throat and alert them to her close proximity behind the three of them. They all turn around. Matching pity gleams in Robin and Snow's expressions. Alan's eyes widen, and he swallows rising bile in his throat.

"Not so brave with the _Evil Queen_ standing in front of you now, are you?" Regina laughs darkly and sneers, her words drip with venom, but Robin recognizes a glint of hurt in her deep, brown eyes as she turns her attention to Snow. "Your hopeless husband is looking for you," Regina snaps, pushing past her.

She pauses in her steps for a moment and spins around, her cloak flies with her movement and procures a fireball in the palm of her hand and throws it inches from Allen's feet. He yelps, frantically snuffing an ember out that catches on his pant leg.

"And the next time _you_ decide to speak poorly against your monarch," she directs her chilling stare at him. "I'll remind you of what the Evil Queen is really capable."

Robin calls her name and grabs her wrist to stop her, but her steely eyes and rigid posture paralyze him. It seems he forgets his own rule not to touch her.

"It was foolish of me to let you think you were more than just another sniveling street rat in my eyes, but let me be perfectly clear, thief. It's not Regina, it's your Majesty. Do _not_ forget that," she sharply delivers and begins to walk away.

"So that's how it's going to be," Robin mumbles, grabbing his bow from where it leans against a tree.

"That's how it's going to be," she echoes, forces her way through the space between him and Snow. Regina stalks off in the direction of her tent.

_That woman is insufferable_, Robin groans.

"I told you the Queen is trouble, Robin," John joins his friend and glares at Allan. "I know you like to see the good in everyone, but that woman –"

"Need I remind you _both _again that, that woman saved my son's life," Robin interrupts. "And, if you hadn't notice, _this _great and _terrible_ Evil Queen you keep talking about, you know, the one who has magic, she _has yet_ to use it on any of us."

"Oye, I disagree, what about what she just did to my leg?! She could've burned me," Allan passionately argues.

"Oh, bugger off, Alan. You know full well, if she wanted to really inflict pain, you'd be in a heap on the floor right now," Robin counters. "We've heard stories of her power and lethalness, but we haven't seen it, even though we all know she's entirely capable. _That_ tells me something completely different than the horrible portrait you both paint."

Robin leaves his men to ponder his words and retreats into the comfort of his forest. He needs to think about what to do next, and hunting has always brought respite and quiet to loud thoughts and jumbled emotions.

"He's right, you know. Regina isn't the Evil Queen anymore," Snow points out. "Not the one you remember, anyway. She's trying to change, and I have to believe it'll stick this time. My only hope is that you let her. She's been through so much. We all have."

Snow goes in search of her Charming, and Allan and John both look at each other with a tiny bit of guilt and trepidation in their eyes. Allan inspects the singe marks on his trousers and mumbles about another hole in a pair of perfectly good pants, and John barks that it's his own fault. Maybe next time he won't stick his hand into the pit of a viper and expect to not be bitten. He's lucky the damage isn't worse and that the Queen isn't how they remember her from their years spent evading her Black Knights.

* * *

By the time Robin makes his way back into camp, it's dark and well past the evening meal, tales around a warm fire, and songs played with wooden flutes. He returns empty handed after hours of preying upon a lone buck. The normal solace he sought eluded him, replaced by thoughts of Regina, and all the right words he wanted to say, even though only the wrong ones seemed to sit on the tip of his tongue. Two lookouts, Much and Tuck perch in trees on either side of camp, keeping guard as a fog rolls in and blankets the forest floor. He gestures toward both of them, and they turn their attention back out into the expanse of night.

Robin retires and falls into a restless sleep, pulling his son closer to him. Not even an hour passes before Much pops his head into his tent and hoarsely whispers for Robin to wake up.

"Robin, psst," Much calls, "Hey, boss." He picks up a pebble from the ground and tosses it at Robin's face. It lands on his forehead and bounces off and onto the floor from once it came.

Robin jolts up and grabs a dagger from under his bedroll before realizing there's no danger, and it's just his friend.

"What is it, Much?" he stifles a yawn.

"Tuck saw the Evil …" the blonde Merry Man begins. "He saw the Queen sneak out of her tent. She's gone, Robin."

That revelation removes any sleep from Robin's eyes. "When?" he demands.

"Not but a few ticks ago," Much states. "She walked north, away from camp. And, Robin … she was using magic."

Robin looks at Roland asleep in their bed.

"Don't worry, I got him. You go find the Queen," Much moves further into the tent. "I woke John. He's on watch with Tuck."

"Thank you, Much," Robin sighs and scratches his head.

"I get it, you know. Aside from the Queen being a real looker," Much winks, and Robin glares at him through the dark. "I can see that you care about her. And far be it from any of us to tell you what you should or shouldn't do, Robin. We all know you have a bleeding heart and are an incredibly stubborn arse when you set your mind on something. Shit, these people have only been with us for a little over a week, and you're already fiercely defending and protecting her from herself."

"Much, it's not –"

"Let me finish. You and I, we've been through a lot. It was just you, me and John in the beginning. Three young lads looking to find our place in the world. We've been through war, and treason, and hell together. We stood helpless as our village burned, fought against tyrants and betrayal, and vowed to never let royals take our freedom again. And, in all the time I've known you, not once has the disappearance of a stranger pulled you so quickly from your bed."

Robin tries to protest, but Much doesn't let him speak.

"No, don't get me wrong. We might not be able to see in her what you see yet, but I know you. I was there when you loved and lost Marian to death. I was there when you couldn't save your brother. I was there when you learned the fate of your bastard, drunk of a father. You can't hide anything from me, mate. You've always found a way to find the best parts of people and pull that to the surface. Now, I heard Allan and John talking with Snow White about the Queen. We're just being cautious because of what we know about her. But, I'll be the first to admit, we've misjudged her. I won't be the one to go out and look for her, mind you. I'd be the wrong person for that particular task. But, you? I can't think of anyone more sharp tongued or quick witted who can match the Queen blow for blow than you, Robin of Locksley."

"Alright, alright," Robin raises his hands and pulls on his tunic. "Enough before you inflate my ego anymore than it already is. Watch, Roland."

Robin grips the tent flap, ready to duck out in search of Regina, but stops just before he leaves.

"And, Much," he says quietly. "Thank you."

"Don't speak of it," Much insists. "Seriously, don't speak of it. Little John and Tuck already think I'm going soft. Now, go find her. You need to prove to us that you haven't lost your touch tracking things through the woods. Tonight's the second time you've returned without your kill."

Much taunts his friend with his raised eyebrows and smirks at his own jest. Robin glares at him again, but he doesn't need anymore encouragement than that and chases after Regina through the dead of night.

* * *

After her outburst at Roland and discovery in the meadow, Regina spent a day and a half artfully avoiding everyone in camp, which wasn't that hard to do. She woke before them and went to sleep after them. And while they stayed close to their tents, discussing when they were going to push their company on and continue their long journey to the castle, she slipped unseen into the forest to preserve a dying flower in a conjured glass jar. She hid it in the cavity of a fallen log, and then spent hours collecting and summoning remaining ingredients with the graceful flick of her wrist. She used the hard surfaces of two rocks to grind the flower's petals into a paste. She mixed the black pollen with dew drops from early morning and crushed up the wings of twin butterflies. Regina poofed a glass beaker into her hand and meticulously combined all her ingredients. With the whispering of a spell she memorized long ago for her pale-faced stepdaughter, the contents flashed blue and then purple before settling clear. All she had to do was let it mature and warm under the rays of one sun's passing, and then she'd finally be able to end her suffering. So, she nestled it in between two ferns near the base of a mighty oak and marked the spot with a _finding _spell, and planned to come back tomorrow.

Well, now is tomorrow, and her potion is ready, all she has to do is drink. She chose this spot in the woods for no other reason than it being away from the others. Away from Snow and David. Away from Granny and Leroy. Away from dwarves and Merry Men, and Robin and Roland. Away from questions, and pity, and judgement. She just wants to be alone like she's always been. She didn't have the proper tools or space or time to create this sleeping curse. She cheated by using magical shortcuts, and she isn't sure exactly how she'll react to it, only that the liquid will be rough, and, most likely, scourge as it slips past her lips and down her throat, but it'll still serve its purpose.

Taking a deep breath, Regina thinks of Henry and home and dimples and the pain she caused and the regret she feels, and it's too much. She lifts the small jar to her lips, and liquid is just about to tip over the rim and into her mouth when it's ripped from her fingers.

"What are you doing?" Robin bellows, holding the vial outside her reach.

"That's none of you business, _thief_," Regina stands up and forcefully pushes him back, her tiny fists beat against his chest.

"So, we're back to that are we? I chastise you and challenge you not to lash out at my son, and we're back to name calling, Regina."

"It's your majesty, _thief_."

"No, it's not, _Regina._ It hasn't been since we met almost eight days ago. Now, I'll repeat myself. What are you doing?"

She hits him again, tries to grab her sleeping curse, when he blocks her with his arm. The scowl on her face is deep and ugly, but oddly beautiful to him at the same time. She is wild and untamed and gorgeous in her fury.

"God, why can't you just leave me alone?" Regina complains, walking three steps away before facing him again.

"Because it seems you're relentlessly pursuing a means to an end. Now, I don't know what foul potion you've concocted, but I can't in good conscious let you drink this."

"You're like a thorn in my side that I can't wait to be rid of," she exasperates. "God, why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"You know why."

"Yes, your _care_ and your _friendship_. Well, surprise surprise, Robin, I don't want _anything_ from you."

"But you shall have it anyway."

"Give me back the vial before I make you," Regina demands. It shouldn't astonish her that he refuses. He's done nothing but road block her attempts to ease her suffering since they met.

"No, if you planned to do that, you would've already."

She shakes her head adamantly, "You don't know what I will or won't do."

"I believe I do. Otherwise, you'd already be holding this vial," he states.

"Robin, please. Just let me do this," she begs.

"Apologies, M'lady, but I cannot." Robin turns his face to the ground, Regina rushes at him again, but it's already too late. He pours the contents out into the grass.

"Do you know what you've just done?" she screams furiously. "The ingredients to that are hard enough to come by. I was lucky to have even found that blasted flower in the first place."

"Then I'm glad to hear your chances of finding it again are slim. Winter is coming and not much blooms in the woods of Sherwood once snow starts to settle. And, I don't think you truly intended to drink it anyway."

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because you have magic, and you and I both know, you could've taken it from me the moment I pried it from your fingers."

"Can't you understand that I don't want to feel like this anymore?"

"Of course, I can, but feel it you must. You can't keep running from this, Regina. You can't push people away and lash out when all they want to do is help you."

"Why?! Don't you think I know the way you look at me? Like I'm some broken animal. I don't want your pity, and I don't need it. Not from Snow, and most certainly not from you. Neither of you two idiots are helping."

"Because you won't let us! You're too stubborn to realize that the reason we're even trying to help in the first place is because there are people here who need you."

"Exactly, you _need_ me. _Help us, Regina. Save us, Regina. Forget about Henry, Regina. _I'm the one who has to do the dirty work, make the hard choices for others so they don't have to carry the guilt of their decisions around with them. I _get_ to carry it for them instead. I did that in Neverland, and I did that in Storybrooke, and I did that in the Enchanted Forest before I cast the curse, before people started calling me the Evil Queen. So don't tell me you want to help, because I know you just don't want to lose your magical weapon."

"You're wrong, and you're blind if you can't see the truth. We don't need you because of your magic or because of the decisions that need to be made. I can assure you, I've taken responsibility for my fair share of hard choices. I don't need a scapegoat for that, not when I carry consequences, and burdens, and the lives of my men in my soul everyday. I need you to not be _stubborn_ and _selfish_, because I care about what happens to you. You foolish woman. Now, you're hurting and angry, I understand that better than anyone, but I will not let you bury your feelings any longer. I don't care how long it takes, but you will get it all out into the open right this instant. I gave you space, because I thought that's what you needed, and I wanted to be respectful. But clearly that's not working, and you need help."

"I don't need your help!" she counters, shouting at him. "I don't need help from anyone. I've taken care of myself for a really long time, and I won't take advice from a man who sleeps in the dirt by choice."

"You're cracking, your majesty. I think you need help now more than ever. Your anger is getting the best of you, and you're hurting people," Robin growls, waving the empty vial in her face.

"Maybe I want to hold onto my anger, because it's the only thing I have left!"

"NO, it's not. You're just too obstinate to see what's right in front of you," Robin sighs and lets go of his temper. "You can't just hold onto anger, Regina. You have a second chance to start over, but you can't do that if you don't allow yourself to feel grief and anger, frustration and sorrow. You have to feel everything, because eventually they'll give way to better things. If you don't, if you hold it all in, if you hide behind your walls and seal off your heart, it'll be your ruin. When my wife died, I was so lost, but the moment I held Roland and realized that this tiny, pink, little lad needed me, I was overwhelmed with love for him. My grief, though unbearable, grounded me, and it made me appreciate all the more what I held in my arms. Yes, sometimes when Roland learns something new, or stares at something in wonder like it's the best thing in the entire world, my heart aches for Marian. But the pain is only a faint echo of what it use to be. The pain, you have to let yourself feel it so that one day you're able to finally let it go. And trust me, when that day comes, when grief can't wedge its way into a crevice in your heart, the only thing you'll have room for after that is healing, and happiness, and love."

"Love," she scoffs. "Henry was the only love I had in my life, and now he's gone. I can't do this. I've tried, but everything reminds me of my son, and it's agony being here without him, knowing that I'll never see him again. And, Roland. You saw what happens when people get close to me. I hurt them, Robin. That's what I'm best at. How can you possibly still want me around your son? It's better that I never love again, and that no one ever loves me."

What little control she has over her emotions is gone now, fleeing with the last drop of her sleeping curse that seeps into the ground beneath their feet. Tears stream down her face uncontrollably and her hands shake. She is ever so close to breaking, and he knows she needs that release.

"Whether you like it or not, M'lady, it's already too late for that," Robin sighs and carefully chooses his next words. "My son is taken with you. He asks for you, doesn't even remember your anger or the look on your face when he pulled at your clothes. A child's memory is wonderful that way. Everything is black and white. There's no gray area. And even though his feelings may have been hurt for a moment, all he knows now is that for four days, we broke bread together and then played in his home. That's what this forest is, his home. You've found a friend in him, whether you wanted one or not is of no consequence now, because you have one. And, Regina, Roland is just as stubborn, if not more so, as I am."

He has her with that last bit, and her tears turn into sobs, because she really does like Roland, and it really did break her heart when she hurt him. And, on top of that, she cries because a small part of her wants Robin to just fuck off and finally leave her alone, while an even bigger part desperately wants to let him in. The thing is, she doesn't know how. Anger, and walls, and barriers, and revenge are all she's had for a very long time, and the idea of letting anything else in is terrifying.

Shaking, Regina wavers on her feet, and this time when Robin grabs her arms to steady her, she doesn't pull back. Instead, she lets him lead her to a tree, lets him lower both of them to the ground and pull her into his arms, tucked between his legs as he leans his back into bark for support.

If it's possible, she cries even harder when he whispers in her ear, _tell me about your son_. His soothing, and soft words, and tight embrace don't relent as she starts from the beginning. From adoption to one week ago, Robin listens intently to every story, every memory. He laughs with her when appropriate, and he pulls her tighter into his arms when necessary. His eyes glisten when he thinks about what he'd do in Regina's place, and he calms her with a few words here and there, but mostly he listens. He does for her what his Merry Men did for him after the death of his wife. He lets her talk, and cry, and rant, and retell every last story she needs to tell until her voice stops hitching in her throat, her hiccups cease, and her breathing evens out.

Robin's chin rests on the top of her head. He strokes his fingers through her hair, and she buries her face further into his chest. He can smell the scent of lavender again with her so close to him, and he realizes just how much he missed it. This is the closest they've been since he rubbed salve into the gash on her arm, and it's more intimate than any kiss or lover's caress he's ever felt.

He's known this woman a week, and he knows that no matter what happens, his life shall never be the same. He will fill whatever role she lets him. He breathes in the scent of her hair, and when he finally speaks his speech is gruff and husky.

"I'll help you. Regina, I swear to you, I will help you find a way back to Henry."

"You can't possibly promise that," her voice cracks.

"No, but I most certainly can try. You're not ready to have hope yet, so let me hope for you. I don't know how, but I truly believe you'll be reunited with your son again."

He holds her as her cries renew, and rocks her in his arms, rubbing her back reassuringly. From experience, he knows her grief won't just disappear after tonight, but her tears, violent outpour of emotion, and relinquishing control are healing steps.

An hour passes with them still wrapped up in each other's embrace before Regina succumbs to exhaustion and falls asleep. Robin gently carries her to her tent and lays her on her bedroll. He stares at her puffy eyes and red cheeks, moves a strand of hair away from her face with the calloused pads of his fingers, and prays she sleep through the rest of the night. He knows she needs it. The road to healing is long and hard, but he vows to be there for her in whatever capacity she lets him and in all the ways he knows she truly needs.

He moves to leave her, but she grabs his hand and stills him.

"Robin," Regina breathes, emotionally drained. "Thank you. It's been a very long time since anyone has fought for me or _wanted_ to be ... my friend."

"It's my pleasure, Regina. Now sleep," he soothes, giving her hand a squeeze. "Tomorrow is a new day, and there's a dimpled child who'd like nothing more than to sit with you during breakfast."

Of course, it's not all sugar coated mornings and amicable exchanges after that. She still snaps, and sasses, and snarks, but none of it lasts long, and none of it has the same sharpness as before. Robin's toothy grins, a bite on his bottom lip when he amuses himself, equally witty and sarcastic comments disarm Regina. She slowly opens herself up a little more with each gentle nudge and genuine intrigue, and finds it's no longer just him stealing glances when he thinks she isn't looking. Her eyes are drawn to him just as much, like a moth to a flame.

We knew Regina needed a push to heal and grow and accept her good and bad pieces. She needed to be at her lowest before she would finally allow herself to "really" let Robin and Roland into her life. And, now that the emotional flood gates have finally been opened, let the fluffiness begin!

* * *

Disclaimer: not mine


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for reading. XOXO, Jess**

* * *

Hideaways and Roaring Rapids

Regina wakes up earlier the next day, before the sun and everyone else, making her way toward the meadow she wallowed in after snapping at Roland. That's how she finds herself crouching in the dirt and grass, not far from camp, gently snapping the stems of wildflowers and arranging them into a bouquet. It's another chilly morning, a light breeze bites at her exposed neck, she shivers, but doesn't stop picking flowers and a few sprigs of lemongrass. Burnt umbers, golden yellows, a touch of coral and peach – she gathers similar colors to the ones Roland gave her over a week ago, knows children often gravitate toward palettes they like themselves. _Or at least Henry did_, she smiles sadly.

Regina does this for him, for her little prince, because she knows what he would say if he were with her now, knows he would tell her to think happy thoughts, to believe in herself and the possibility of a happy ending. She really does want to believe, wants to have faith, because she is so tired of running, tired of placing blame. And if she is tired of placing blame, then she has to accept the role she played in Daniel's death. She allows herself two gut-wrenching, agonizing minutes to let that sink in, to grieve as her trembling hand dislodges tiny seed pods off a prickly rose. But she only gives herself those two minutes and not a second more, because she is finally ready to breathe deeply and _live._

Regina's heart still aches, but now, she has something to hold onto, something to ground her and fill her with a bit of hope. She isn't the same woman who governed over Storybrooke or the woman who cast a dark curse. This person sitting in less regal clothes, smelling like horses and lavender and _camp_ is different, in every way imaginable, and she isn't sure how she feels about the change, but her guilt and sorrow are less than they were yesterday, and that is certainly a start. There's another person in addition to her son who finally believes in her, and she clings to that, uses Robin's words as a tether.

_I will help you find a way back to Henry._

Regina tilts her head back and closes her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. Her hair falls past her shoulders to the middle of her back, its weight pulls at the base of her scalp. She lets her chest rise and fall and fill, the morning air freshens and invigorates, while she inhales the scent of chrysanthemums, asters and dahlias. She finishes collecting her apology for Roland and thinks about last night while walking back down the path from which she came.

Under the cover of midnight, she cried in Robin's arms for more time than she would have liked, clinging to his shirt, seeking comfort in his closeness. He rubbed her back, and she hiccupped and breathed in shaky breaths, and they sat in peaceful silence for a moderate amount of time. He soothed her with promises, and gentle touches, and her guard had been completely down. No walls to climb, he was already over them. No barriers to breach, he was already standing on the other side.

When did that happened? When did he steal past her defenses and work his way into her inner circle? Her very small, inner circle of one – herself.

Regina shuddered a few more times in his warm embrace. Tears slowed down, his hand at her back rubbed softly. Robin's chin pressed against the top of her head, and all of a sudden, she felt the mood shift. His soothing hands still moved up and down, but his touch turned tender. Only feeling more intimate as he drew up his knees to hold her more closely, leaned down to caringly place a light kiss at her temple.

She quivered a little, the small act unfamiliar and almost forgotten. Something she hadn't felt in a long time stirred up dusty butterflies in her stomach. Regina turned ever so slightly in his arms. Moonlight spilled across Robin's face as the far away celestial body inched its way higher into the sky, and Regina sighed, in awe of the man refusing to let her go.

_Shouldn't she have pushed him away? Shouldn't she have fled?_

Last night, she really studied the creases on his brow, chiseled jaw line, and crinkles around his exceptionally blue eyes, wondered where each line and peppered grey hair came from, which stories showed on his face. She couldn't deny her attraction to him, couldn't pretend he didn't churn up feelings as he affectionately ran his palms down her shoulders and across her back, gently pulling her against his chest. Regina rested her cheek near his collarbone and encircled her arms around his waist. She hugged him and closed her heavy eyes, lulled by his caressing hands, feeling cared for and safe.

Not long after, she had fallen asleep, and he must have carried her back to her tent, because a few hours ago, she woke up buried beneath furs. She vaguely remembers saying, _thank you_, grabbing his hand before he could leave. She still thinks about the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to see something more in her than others did. With a new day in front of them, Regina goes to Granny for three biscuits and three cups filled to the brim with milk.

"That's awfully thoughtful of you," Granny smirks, stoking coals and wiping her hands on a ragged apron.

"Yes, well, I have my moments," Regina admits. "Just as I'm sure you do from time to time when you're not poisoning people with your version of lasagna or poached eggs.

"I've never heard anyone complain about my food before, girl," Granny scoffs.

"That's because your price points are ridiculously low," Regina states. "Although, I'm not sure what that says about your ingredients."

"That a Queen created them in 1986 and never thought to freshen things up a bit," Granny chuckles. "I think that's more on you than it is on me."

Regina smiles at the old woman and bites the inside of her cheek. There aren't many people who could talk to her the way Granny does, but they have some sort of agreement. In another life, they were both called many things – monster, beast, wolf, villain, Evil Queen – and they've both spent time trying to redeem themselves, trying to be better. Granny for years longer than Regina, but still it's like they're in a club, and they understand each other.

"Thank you for the scones, _old lady_," Regina sasses.

"Hmm, you're welcome, _girl_," Granny humphs.

Regina doesn't have to wait, sitting on _their_ log, for very long before she hears Roland's joy-filled squeal.

"Gina! Morning!" he greets, running across the last ten feet that separates them. Robin follows slowly after his son, hands tucked into the pockets of his beige trousers. He looks particularly handsome today, or maybe its just the fact that her eyes are finally open.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she smiles warmly, relief washing over her at how excited he is to see her. She's thankful Robin was telling the truth about Roland already forgetting her _tantrum_.

"You're up before me and Papa," the tiny lad exclaims.

"I am, and I have something for you," she says, showing him the biscuits and milk. "Would you like to sit with me?"

"Yes pwease," he responds eagerly, but he doesn't take the empty space she offers, instead he hops and skips over to her knees and crawls into her lap.

The look of astonishment on her face makes Robin laugh, and she doesn't stop a grin from spreading upon her face. She gives him a little squeeze, holding him close in her arms and apologizes for yelling at him a few days ago. She didn't mean it, and she shouldn't have raised her voice. He tells her it's okay, and she gives the tiny tot the flowers. He smells them and says _they're pretty_, and looks at his papa, holding them proudly in his firm, little grip, telling him they're from the Queen.

"I see that, my boy," Robin replies.

"I gots a present from the Queen!" he shrieks again. Robin fills the spot beside Regina. Roland cuddles into her arms, back against her chest.

"Only special little boys get gifts from the Queen," she tells the boy. "And you're very special, Roland."

"Because I'm your wittle knight," he says between chewing and smacking his lips together, enjoying his yummy, hot scone.

"Because you're my little knight," she agrees, brushing Roland's curls away from his forehead. He snuggles further into her warm embrace. They sit in silence for a while, drinking milk and eating their breakfast. Regina lifts a cup of milk to Roland's mouth, and he sips, some of it spills, and she easily cleans off his face. It's sweet and motherly and makes Robin grin as he watches the two of them together. He's so focused on them in fact that he misses Regina say his name two times. It's on the third call that he finally tunes in.

"Robin?" she tries again to get his attention. His eyes widen, and he nods to show her he is listening now. "Granny and a few of your men talked about a village that set up a barter system after I… after I cast the curse. Is it close to here?"

"Hmm, it's just a couple miles east," he clears his throat. "We could easily get there well before high noon. Are you in need of anything in particular?"

"I want to do something for..." she reaches her hand up and out of Roland's view and points down at him, while he happily eats the other half of the scone she offered to him.

"Regina, you don't have to do that. _You-know-who_ is absolutely pleased with your gift already," Robin assures her, points to the bundle of flowers laying between them. "You could smile at him, and I'm sure he'd be completely content with just that, just as I - just as any would be content, that is, with a gift from their queen."

"I hope you're a better thief than a flirt, otherwise I don't know how you made such a name for yourself over the years."

"Well, I believe my wanted posters scattered about this realm serve as testament to that, wouldn't you agree, your majesty?"

"Hmm … I suppose that's an accurate statement."

* * *

Regina and Roland walk slowly past open stalls and wooden tables covered by blankets made on looms. Farmers sell their bountiful harvests: husked corn, plump tomatoes, dragon fruit, a variety of yellow, green and orange gourds and squashes, bunches of sweet clover, bundles of wheat, used potato sacks filled with exotic herbs and spices, signatures of the realm. Bread, meat, ale, candles, cloth, leather goods, wood and metal wares. Local craftsmen display their skills and peasants showcase their handiwork, trading goods or services for provisions and tools. Roland holds her hand, excitedly points at jugglers and musicians, puppet shows and games and rides. He loves the entertainment, his cheeks rosy and bright with enthusiasm. It pulls joy out of her heart and fills her spirit.

The market a hub of social life for gathering villagers.

Regina worked hard to set up a fair and flourishing kingdom, attempting to recover a number of losses after Leopold's reign _ended_. She smiles; it pleases her, seeing _her _people (regardless of whether they view themselves that way) thrive post curse, forced to rebuild and think innovatively in order to survive the crumbling of their domain. Bookkeepers record all transactions, denoting which goods go quickest, and publicly appointed officers keep the populace safe.

Leopold was a kind and benevolent man, but terrible with finances and unable to empathize with or relate to the plights of his subjects, having never experienced real labor or hardship in his entire life. He didn't understand where their true needs rested; Regina may have grown up a princess, daughter of Prince Henry, granddaughter to King Xavier, but her eyes and heart opened long ago to the poor and marginalized of their hierarchy. Her love for Daniel and his genuine kindness and want to help only opened her eyes more, and her many days spent visiting with local merchants as a youth secured her place among them as one of their own. That particular memory still sits a little bitterly in her mouth, the fact that at one point _her_ people really did hold her in fond regard. That is, until anger and revenge transformed her in their eyes, and they started calling her the Evil Queen.

Looking from shop to shop for ingredients, Roland never leaves her side, tightens his grasp on fingers as they pass by a man, spitting alcohol and fire out of his mouth. The child's eyes widen, and Regina laughs. She can only imagine the look on his face if he saw her conjuring a fireball in her palm.

They stop in front of a stand with barrels and crates overflowing with persimmons, kumquat, star fruit, quinces, and apples.

"Gina, what about dis one?" Roland asks, holding up a bright, red apple. She takes it from his out stretched hand and breathes in the sweet, fresh scent of her favorite fruit.

"I think that'll do just fine. Why don't you pick out five more, we only have a few more things we need, and then we'll go watch the puppet show we walked by earlier."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay!" he shouts, reaching up onto the table for five more apples. "Gina, what's a _turnedover _taste like?"

"Turnover, sweetheart, and it tastes like the sun. Like a warm, golden, and sweet sun," she replies.

"But Gina, we can't eat da sun," he quirks his mouth and furrows his brow, and she laughs.

Originally, Regina was going to leave the turnovers a surprise, but after breakfast Roland didn't want to leave her side, spent too much time away from her already he said. Robin had just proudly grinned at his boy and said it couldn't be helped. He was stubborn. Regina mumbled under her breath, _"Like father, like son," _and they all journeyed to the market place together.

They walk back to the jugglers and stay for a while, _oohing_ and _aahing_ as performers toss knives and balls in the air with rhythm and ease.

Little does Regina know, Nottingham stumbles out of a tavern not a hundred yards behind her, a quarter of a bottle of whiskey limply held in his dangling hand. He pushes past peasants and barks insults. Everything annoys, everything clangs and beats against his already pounding head.

After meeting up with Mortianna in the Weeping, she took him back to his men at their old fortress built in the rock face of Devil's Peak. Brick and mortar crumble, the place was in shambles, a sorry disgrace, and the welcome was lacking. Men passed out on the floor, the air smelled stale and dank from boozing and living in filth. He roused them with bellows and hollers, demanded to know why no one was competent enough to find a way into Robin Hood's camp.

_How could one thief elude them for thirty years?!_

A rugged bloke with greasy hair and an unshaven face made a comment and spit at Nottingham's feet. He chuckled darkly, turning away from him, and Nottingham saw red, already enraged to hear his nemesis had been here after all these years, his group of Merry Men and rabble thriving under the Queen's dark curse. He unsheathed the dagger at his hip, hooked his arm around the man's neck, and slit his throat. The thug dropped to the ground, blood pooled, and Nottingham dared anyone else to step forward and challenge him. Mortianna stood at his back.

He shouted, _Good_, when no dared speak up. He kicked the gasping, dying man at his feet. Swiped his dagger on his pant leg and returned it to its place on his belt, then sneered for someone to show him to the ale, his tremors returned.

Mortianna's response echoed in his head, _You've shown your machismo, now it's time to rally; it's not time to get drunk and fall asleep. That's why the Evil Queen captured you in the first place. Remember the plan. If we want to take this realm, we need to remove the Wicked Witch first, and she wants the Evil Queen._

He glared at her and said, _You haven't let me forget that since I've returned._

Only for her to respond, _Then act like it. I need something of hers to make the spell work._

_I will get it. _He bit back, spit flew from his mouth.

The hag was not amused, when she inquired, _And how do you plan to do that?_

_I don't know. I'll figure it out later, but first I need a drink._ He told her, stalking out of the keep.

Now, Nottingham trips and leans his weight against a wall in the closest market he could find. He downs the rest of his liquor; it burns, and he tosses the bottle, watches it crash and shatter. He looks up, licks his lips, and his body freezes.

_Could he really be so lucky?_

He sneers and places one foot forward, forcing his way through a crowd of peasants toward a woman and small child too busy watching jugglers and a puppet show to notice his approach.

* * *

Regina pulls an apple out of the basket hanging from her arm and takes a bite out of it. Juice dribbles down her chin, and she wipes the sticky liquid away with the back of her hand. She needs to be creative without the use of her oven or granite counter top or stainless steel appliances, but she has everything she needs to make mini turnovers for Roland – a special treat just for him, and his papa, of course, if Robin wants one. Cinnamon, and sugar, and flour, and apples, and love (that's what she use to tell Henry).

Roland glances up at her with happy, pleading eyes. She crouches down and rests on her heels; the apple changes hands between them. He crunches on the morsel; cheeks full of fruit as he chews, and he gives it back. For whatever reason, he giggles, accidentally spitting a piece of apple out of his mouth. A bit of the mouthful and red peel land on the front of her linen smock. Regina's laughter fills the air, and Roland giggles even more. His little body shakes with his laughter, his shoulders heaving up and down.

"Oops, sorry Gina," he grins at her and picks the food off her blouse with his fingers, drops it on the ground.

"Oh, that's quite alright, my darling," she replies, tapping him on the nose. A gesture she reserves for only him, his delicious dimples, brown mop of curls, and adorable grin. Save for Henry, Regina thinks he's the cutest child she's ever seen.

"Gina, are we gonna find Papa soon?"

"Of course, here, one more bite," she hovers the apple in front of his mouth, and he takes another nibble. She stands up and flicks dirt off her knee. She holds her hand out to him, and he doesn't hesitate to grab it. "Come on, let's go."

"Yay!" he shouts.

Regina turns around and begins to walk, still looking down at Roland. She takes a few more steps; they swing their arms back and forth, and something hard bumps into her. The apple falls out of her hand, tumbles over gravel, a couple of pebbles and blades of dried grass cling to its flesh.

She whips her head around and her piercing eyes meet hard crystal blues.

"Watch where you're going, peasant!"

"Excuse me, your majesty," the man sneers, his gaze never leaving hers as he bows. He straightens back up, looks her up and down. A blank expression on her face. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"I don't make it a habit of associating myself with…" she glares at him from head to toe, can smell the alcohol on his breath even with space between them. "Drunks and low-lifes. Now, get out of my way."

Regina doesn't like the way this man is staring at her. The look in his eyes is one she's seen many times before, in the chilling, beady irises of criminals worse than curse wielding imps, fire-breathing sorceresses, and blind witches. Men that she locked away in the deepest cells of her dungeons, reserved for only the sickest monsters in the Enchanted Forest. Men sentenced to rot for committing heinous crimes against women, who took sick pleasure in torturing, gutting, and raping.

The old her wouldn't hesitate to break the necks of people fixing her with their eyes the way he is, but she isn't that person anymore, so instead, Regina hoists Roland onto her hip and walks away.

"You should've asked me my name, your majesty," he snarls out of her ear shot.

Nottingham grits his teeth and clenches his fists at his sides. He bends down and picks up the half eaten core. He pockets it in his satchel, glares at Regina's retreating form, his nemesis' son bouncing on her hip as she stalks away determinedly. He wants to chase her, wants to punish her for what she did to him in Storybrooke, blames her for his run in with Rumplestiltskin and the Dark One's precious Lacey (he can't remember her fairytale counterpart), blames her for his addiction to ale and whiskey that burns roughly with each greedy gulp. He ignores Mortianna's warning and advances toward the Queen, his strides long and forceful, leaving footprints deep and distinctive in rich soil. He's thirty feet away from Regina, when Robin appears in his line of sight. Immediately, he recoils and ducks behind a cart and haystacks.

* * *

"Papa!" Roland shouts, bouncing on Regina's hip. "We saw jugglers, and I helped Gina pick apples, and Papa, guess what?"

"What, my boy?"

"Gina's gonna make–" Roland looks at his queen. "What's it called, Gina?"

"Turnovers, sweetheart," she sighs, and Robin notices she seems shaken.

"Turnovers!

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Robin doesn't seem convinced. "Really. I'm fine," she tries to reassure him. Regina looks over her shoulder, and his eyes follow, but he doesn't see anything to cause alarm. She shifts Roland on her hip.

"Here, I can take him," he offers, but she shakes her head and refuses.

"No, it's okay, if you don't mind, I'd like to carry him," she says, starting to make her way toward their tied up horses.

"Yeah, Papa! Gina wants ta carry me."

Robin grins at his boy. "Well, I suppose the matter is settled then. Do you have everything you need, M'lady?" he asks.

"We do. What are you hiding behind your back?" she quirks her brow at him.

"Ahh, this," he says, revealing a delicate daffodil. Petals a vibrant yellow. "This is for you."

"For me?" she questions, taking the flower out of his grasp. Her fingers lightly brush against his. "A daffodil?"

"Yes, my mother used to tell me they represent a new–"

"Beginning. Yes, I know."

"Oh, you're familiar. Then you know also know it symbolizes rebirth. I thought it fitting."

"Thank you," she replies and smiles at him. He smiles back, bites his bottom lip.

"May I?" he points to the basket on her arm. She nods and lets him take it. Roland still propped on her him. There's a parcel tied together with twine tucked under Robin's arm as well.

"And that?" she points.

"A surprise for later."

"I don't like surprises."

"How can you not like surprises?"

"Surprises don't usually end well in my family," she deadpans. The slight crease in her brow tugs at his heart.

"I can assure you, this is a good surprise, M'lady."

She raises her eyebrows. "You're awfully sure of yourself," she says, their horses coming into view, right where they left them outside the market.

"And you say that quite often," he teases.

The ride back to camp is easy and over quickly. Robin dismounts and helps his boy down from Regina's horse. He sets his little feet on the ground, and his boy scampers off. He turns back to Regina, who's in the midst of swinging her less dominant leg over the saddle. Before she has a chance to finish dismounting, his hands are at her waist. He means to help, but the sudden contact startles her, and her foot wavers in the stirrup. She tries to counter balance herself, but she over-corrects, falls backward. Robin isn't ready for the shift in her weight, and they both crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs. A resounding _'omph' _escapes their mouths. The wind knocks out of them.

When Robin finally catches his breath, he offers a rushed, _M'lady, my apologies, are you alright? _Nervous about whether or not she'll be cross with him. She isn't, and he's surprised by her response, feels the subtle shaking of her shoulders before he hears her bursting in loud laughter. The sound is contagious, and it fills his soul with warmth and a joy he hasn't felt in a very long time. She snorts into his chest at some point, and _God, if it's not the sexiest sound he's ever hear. _It does something low in his stomach, and his muscles tense, aware of the way their limbs and cloaks are still tangled together.

Regina's thigh presses against the inside of his leg slightly, and he fastly realizes he needs to move them into a sitting position before she's aware of exactly what her closeness is doing to him. The smell of her hair, the feel of her body against his, the sound of her laugh, the smile of her lips as she held his son.

He most certainly needs to put a little distance between them.

Robin clears his throat, grins and helps her stand, she's still laughing. They brush dirt and loose leaves off their clothes.

"I apologize, normally, my hands are much more steady," he says.

"I assume they have to be given your particular line of work," she chuckles and pulls her hair so her silky locks drape over the front of her right shoulder. "Thank you, though, for trying to help. Even if it didn't work out the way you thought it would. It felt good to laugh like that."

"I'm glad I could be of service," he smiles, fumbles to unhook the basket of ingredients from the saddle and turning back to face her.

"Yes," she smirks; her eyes look him up and down and pause from a moment at the evidence of his _gladness_. "I can see that."

Robin furrows his brow and follows her gaze, his cheeks flush a rosy shade of pink, and he shifts awkwardly in place. Clearly, she isn't as oblivious as he assumed to his body's natural response to her touch. Regina chuckles at his reaction, and sways her hips back and forth, walking back into camp.

_Christ, _he thinks. She looks back over her shoulder at him.

"Are you coming?" she questions. He nods and follows, imaging what her lips would feel like moving against his.

* * *

No matter how many obstacles Regina seems to embark upon, there is always at least one weakness in her plan. Or plans, depending on which memory she chooses to scrutinize. One roadblock in the way of her happiness.

Right now, that roadblock is vanilla. She isn't picky. She'll take any version of the bottled gift from her modern world.

Pure. Imitation. Madagascar Bean. Gourmet. Grade A.

The first problem, she doesn't have vanilla, and she needs it. Fortunately for her and her current situation, she has magic. The second problem, should she use it in front of Roland or at all?

It's not that she minds using her magic for trivial things, she knows it all comes with a price, but this seems too small for there to possibly be one. And truthfully, a lot of that suppressing her powers crap was a part of not having hope and not wanting to disappoint Henry, but magic is apart of her, and if she's going to move forward, she has to accept _every_ part of her. Her son told her to use her magic to help people, so that is what she is going to do, but that doesn't mean it can't be her and Roland's little secret.

As soon as someone mentions the _Evil _Queen is using her magic again, well… she doesn't want to find out what they'll have to say.

Roland stands beside her on a chair, smiling up at her with his sweet dimples and bright cheerful eyes, almost bursting with excitement. Since their trip into town, she promised him they would make turnovers, and turnovers they shall make. Regina bends over and kisses Roland's little cheek.

"Sweetheart, I'd like you to make sure there aren't any bugs in the flour," she instructs and Roland's little brow furrows at her.

"No bugs, Gina?" He looks down warily at the bowl as if something might jump out at him. "Why would it have bugs?"

"Some might have jumped in," she fibs, making something up with a shake of her head. "Just make sure for me, okay dear?"

Roland shrugs and grimaces, "Alright, Gina," shoving his little hands into the flour. His frown disappears, replaced by delighted giggles as he squashes and paws through the flour's soft depths. "This is fun!"

Perfectly distracted, Regina waves her hand over the table in the middle of the tent, and there before her appears one bottle of pure vanilla extract. Regina smiles to herself, then suddenly her smile fades. Setting the bottle on the table, she visualizes the ingredients from Storybrooke and realizes she will need a few more things. She looks back at Roland still busy sifting and inspecting for critters. He grabs handfuls of it, lifts it into the air, and releases it back into the bowl, a white cloud plumes out and over the bowl.

With a flick of her wrist, another three bowls of ingredients appear. Brown sugar, powdered sugar, and cinnamon. Roland watches as Regina places the ingredients next to him.

"What are those?" he questions, eyeing the strange fixings.

"More sugar to make your papa very grumpy come tonight."

"Why would it make him grumpy?" Roland asks, while laughing as Regina tickles his sides.

Regina crouches down to his eye level and tells him very seriously, "Because these," she taps the rim of each bowl, "will give you lots of energy all night long."

"Ohhhh," he replies gravely.

Regina grins at him and ruffles his hair, before they set to work.

They mix the turnover batter in segments. First, Roland helps her cut and fold butter and salt into flour. Second, powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla are added separately. Granules adorn sticky fingers and lots of "_mmms"_ escape from Roland's lips. Finishing the white mixture, Regina sets it to one side of the table and begins slicing and dicing the apples.

She hears him before she sees him, and she turns just as Robin dips a finger into freshly made frosting and licks it clean.

"Robin…" Regina warns, pointing a long, wooden spoon at him. "Stop eating my glaze."

Robin chuckles and grabs another spoon off the top of the table, scraping a bit of crusted sugar off the rim of the bowl and eating it.

"I'm checking to make certain it's not poisoned," he says while grinning at her.

It is with mock indignation that Regina swipes the bowl away and places it out of his reach. Unfortunately, father and son are alike in more than just their stubbornness and the way they weaseled their way into her heart, and Robin's fingers might be unable to steal samples of pastry glaze, but Roland's aren't.

"It's not poisoned, Papa." Roland reaches his hand into the bowl and scoops a generous fingers worth into his mouth. "See! It's yummy!"

"I'm not sure. It tastes a little odd," Robin says while making a face. He is clearly having fun with her, but she doesn't feel like rising to the occasion at the moment.

Regina turns and places her hands on Robin's chest, walking him backwards toward the tent entrance. "That's because it's uncooked. Now," she pushes Robin out of the tent, "go away until we are done."

Robin makes a face and frowns, forming the most pathetic why-are-you-kicking-me-out expression possible. Regina rolls her eyes and sweeps back into the tent. As she does, Robin's voice rings in from outside the tent, "How long until I…"

"An hour, at least," Regina calls back as she re-entered the _kitchen_.

Roland looks up from where he's stirring (eating) the glaze, ceramic bowl held firmly in his lap. For his part, he looks like he's been caught with his hand in the figurative cookie jar (in this case a literal bowl of sugar), and thus suitably guilty. His little fingers fully loaded. "Did papa go?"

Regina can't help but give in to that face, his little dimples and sweet smile – the same face she just pushed out of the tent in a huff. "Yes, your papa left for a bit."

"Oh, okay," Roland shrugs and continues to lick off the sticky treat coating his fingers.

"Alright little knight, let's get you cleaned up, so we can finish these," she smiles widely, unable to hide her amusement at his tiny pout as she takes the bowl from him.

Once the apples are cooked and simmered in cinnamon, cornstarch, and sugar, and they're stuffed into doughy triangles, Regina looks down at the pastries and back at the cook top. How on earth is she going to bake these without magic? Shrugging, she leans down on the counter, her face stopping inches from where Roland is standing.

"Sweetheart, can you keep a secret?" she asks in a hushed whisper. A request that doesn't hold someone's life in the balance, just a little thing. If the truth is revealed, she will deal with glares and idle gossip like she has since a servant saw her practicing Rumple's instructions when her magic was still uncontrolled and disobedient.

Roland nods. "I can, Gina! I never tell secrets."

"Good," she smiles at him. "Because I'm going to use my magic to cook these so we can eat them right now, okay? But we can't tell anyone. It'll be our secret."

"Okay, Gina," he whispers back to her. He pretends to lock his lips with a key.

She stands up straight, takes a deep breath, and Roland's eyes grow wide as the pastries change from their pale, dough-form to steaming, golden, fluffy turnovers.

"Wow," Roland breathes, completely in awe. "Can I go tell papa they're all done?"

Regina laughs, "Yes, sweetheart. Go get him."

He jumps down from the chair with the help of Regina and runs out of the tent. Not long after just as Regina starts to collect the used bowls, Roland comes bounding back in, drags Robin in tow.

"See papa, all done!" Roland hops around the table, where the turnovers sit cooling.

Robin's tone is proud and filled with an eagerness that matches his sons. "I see that. Great job, little man." He grabs the boy and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "A kiss for a job well done."

"Gina helped, too," Roland points out.

Regina is sure her face is a bright crimson. Robin meets her gaze, and they both stare at one another for a moment, then Robin moves forward and kisses her quickly on the cheek. He is still only a breath away from her, when he says, "Thank you, M'lady, for not only the treats, but for making my son's day."

Regina fell into his ocean, blue eyes, so sincere and conveying so much she hadn't seen directed at her in a long, long time.

"Can I have one now, Gina?" Roland asks as he grabs the side of her dress, gaining her attention from his father.

Robin laughs heartily as Regina gathers the small boy in her arms.

"Of course, you can. You get the first bite, after all," she says, picking up a turnover.

Each flaky triangle is filled perfectly and smells delicious. Regina grins as she hands a warm one to Roland; he eats it with gusto.

"Mmmm, it's so good!" he squeals, mouthful muffled his voice.

Robin reaches around and plucks the spoon up that had been taken from him earlier. He sets to work on licking it clean. Regina rolls her eyes and hands over the spatula covered with the cinnamon filling.

"Do you want to just lick it all clean? It'll save me the washing up," Regina quips and Robin laughs.

"M'lady, you have something on your cheek."

"What?" Regina wipes at her cheek, but it's the wrong side.

Robin laughs again and walks up to her as she is still holding Roland; he swipes a streak of flour off her skin, and then smirks. "Were you two cooking or painting?"

"I'm surprised you wiped it off," Regina winks and moves to sit behind the table still carrying Roland. She's unable to bite her tongue before adding, "You lick everything else clean."

It takes Robin a moment to realize what Regina said, and by the time he does, she and Roland are wrapped up in their own little world.

They exchange flirtatious comments quite often after that. Regina tries to hide the way her cheeks flush a rosy crimson. Robin bites his bottom lip the way he has discovered she rather likes. And all the while, days pass by and they can't be bothered to be parted.

Snow asks Regina questions about the thief she claimed smelled like forest. The petite woman mentions that they're spending a lot of time together, but Regina doesn't take the bait, refusing to give into girl talk.

Little John asks Robin what he intends to do once the Queen and her company depart from their group. Once they reach their castle, what does Robin plan to do? He tells his friend, and right hand man, he isn't sure, he'll deal with that when the time comes, but for now, he just wants to give Regina the same chances each of the Merry Men were granted. That receives him a snarky, _it seems you're giving her a lot more than that._

Fourteen more days go by, marking the passing of one month since Regina broke Pan's curse and brought them all back to the Enchanted Forest. Spirits are higher than they've been in weeks, everyone finally settling into a routine, use to life in their once again home.

"Tell me again why I agreed to this?" Regina sighs as she and Robin walk between the array of tents toward the large fire in the center of camp. They both wear heavy cloaks, as winter seems to be falling earlier than normal this year.

"Because it is a celebration, and what would a celebration be without its Queen?" Robin states. Regina groans at his response.

He stops and grabs her wrist gently. They've grown a lot closer since laughing in a heap on the forest floor. Regina flirts with him more openly, banters more freely, and meets his searching gaze more frequently from across camp. He still lets her set their boundaries, hasn't kissed her yet like he desires, but he started making up excuses to touch her a little more and more after her _licking_ comment. A gentle hand at the small of her back to let her know when he was behind her. The brush of his fingertips against hers as they walked through the forest after breakfast (a part of their daily routine now) while Roland played ahead of them. The press of her shoulder against his when he sat intentionally close to her on a log in front of the campfire or anywhere in camp for that matter.

Robin cherishes those little moments, looks forward to them, and one morning, while sitting on _their_ log, waiting for her with scones and cups of milk, she alerts him to her presence with a hand at his shoulder. As she sits, her touch travels down his arm and stops to rest at his hand. She gives it a squeeze, but doesn't let go after. He doesn't say anything, just bites his lip and smiles a bit smugly.

Robin holds her hand whenever he likes after that, and Regina doesn't stop him.

"How about this then, you agree to go, because I'm asking you to, and because spending the night sitting warm in my arms isn't really all that appalling."

"We'll see," Regina purses her lips to try and suppress a smile.

She settles down in front of the fire with Robin beside her. There are about three-dozen others present. She notices that Snow and David appear to be in their own little world, sharing a cloak across from her and Robin.

The others are just in the midst of finishing the old argument, _if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?_

"That was fun. Anyone else have a pointless issue to debate?" Leroy scoffs sarcastically.

Friar Tuck speaks up, "How about the one with the princess and the lion?"

"I don't believe I am familiar with that one," David replies. "Please, tell us about it."

"A princess falls in love with a poor commoner. Her father refuses to let them be together, and subjects him to a cruel punishment. The man is sent into an arena, and must choose between two doors. Behind one door is a starved lion and behind the other is another bride to be. The princess is the only one who knows what lies behind each door, and as her lover enters the arena, she has to indicate which door she wishes him to choose. The argument is: what will he be greeted by once he opens the door, the bride or the lion?"

Belle shakes her head. "I don't see the problem. She should choose the bride, I mean issues of morality aside, if she loves him at all, then how could she possibly choose otherwise?" she asks.

"But perhaps he'd prefer the fate with the lion," Robin states into the crisp night air.

Regina looks at the man beside her, her eyebrows raise, surprised at his words.

"Wouldn't that be a little extreme? I can't possibly see how it could be the lion. She'd have to be..." Regina leans forward and whispers, "Heartless."

Chuckling, Robin meets her gaze. "I didn't say that _she_ would choose the lion," he points out.

"Exactly," David says, smiling because he knows where Robin is going with this. "The question isn't just which door would she choose, but which door he chooses to open."

"What? Like he doesn't trust her?" Red supplies.

David now has a slightly different theory. "Well, actually, I think the real question is: how well does he know her, and what does he choose for himself?"

"I see only one course of action," Robin decides. "He shouldn't open the door she brings him to, but the other."

"That's what I would do," David agrees.

"How do you two nuts figure?" Leroy asks appalled. "You'd rather die than live without a woman? A woman, mind you, that might be sending you to your death?"

"If she loves him unselfishly, she'll send him to the other woman. In that case, she is worth dying for, and he should choose to pick that door holding back the lion," Robin explains.

"If she has chosen the lion, then he is better off to go on with his life without her. He should choose the bride," David finishes.

"Exactly," Snow nods in agreement.

Leroy snickers, "You people are crazy."

Before Regina can open her mouth to speak, Little John voices up again. "Choosing death is never suitable, yet will be the most likely outcome for the man."

"Don't you see, John?" Robin shakes his head. "It isn't about death, it's about love. He doesn't want her to have to picture him in the arms of another."

"So he chooses to die?" Regina questions his thought process. She's heard enough impractical sappiness from both David and Robin. "I think you two are both being idiots. And what about the bride-to-be? Why must she be a part of this sick, twisted game?"

Belle laughs, "I have to agree with, Regina. It's hardly fair to her at all."

"Do you think she'd be hurt that he chose being eaten to death, over life with her?" Neal joins, sitting next to Belle.

"My question is," Leroy says in all seriousness. "What about the lion? I mean, how does the beast feel about all of this?"

Regina rolls her eyes, but can't help smiling. She looks at Robin; he smiles back and laces his fingers with hers.

Robin chuckles, "The lion is probably content either way, Leroy."

This is better, Snow decides, watching everyone get along. In the beginning, she was worried, mostly about Regina. But now, she sees, her friend/stepmother or whatever she and Regina are now (still only eight years apart in age), enjoying herself, sneaking away with Robin and his son, and it delights her to no end. Regina deserves a happy ending more than most she knows, and she desperately wants her to have it. Snow exchanges a look with Robin, and his pleased grin tells her he probably would agree.

The evening ticks on as they talk some more about what if scenarios, modern mystery whodunits (details changed, an added medieval flare so the Merry Men can still participate), and favorite memories from in Enchanted Forest of before. Snow and David talk about the first time they met, a rock to the chin, and a tackle to the ground. Robin regales them with the time he and his men robbed Maleficent. Regina mentions that she heard about that for weeks after, the dragon upset over a missing looking glass.

The light pitter patter of rain drops intermittently, spitting on their faces and into their fire pit, making it sizzle, forces them to snuff out their flame and retreat to their tents. They say their good nights, and everyone save for Robin and Regina quickly turn in for the evening.

"Well it seems we'd better turn in ourselves," Robin sighs, and he directs his gaze up at the sky, rolling clouds block out twinkling stars.

Regina rests her head on his shoulder. "I think you may be right."

They walk in silence a few paces, then Robin's hand is warm on the small of her back, and he asks if he can escort her to her tent. She tells him it's unnecessary, but he is insistent, and she is reluctant these days to part from him.

They reach her tent too quickly for her liking, and she turns back to him before going inside.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what, M'lady?"

"For tonight, for dragging me along."

Robin smothers a smile. "Am I to assume you had a good time then?"

"I'll admit, I stayed warm," she hums, stepping a little closer to him.

"Ahhh, you _are _of the stubborn sort," he remarks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You have no idea," she licks her bottom lip.

"Something tells me I'm about to," he postulates, moving his palm down her shoulder, along the outside of her arm, until he is holding her hand. He loves holding her hand.

"Perhaps."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asks.

"You see me everyday," she chuckles.

Robin clears his throat. "What I meant is, would you like to come with me tomorrow? For a walk. Just us?" And just like that, her chuckling stops.

"I'd like that."

"Well, until then," Robin whispers gruffly.

He closes the distance between them, his chest presses lightly to hers, and Regina swears she thought he was going to kiss her. She swallows a lump in her throat, because she wants this, wants him, has for quite some time now. His eyes never leave hers, and his stare is so intense, she didn't even notice that he brought her hand up to his lips.

_Damn._

"Goodnight, M'lady," he says.

"Goodnight, Robin," she sighs and ducks into her tent.

* * *

The next morning, the air has that expectant and leaden feel one experiences just before a violent, summer downpour. Only it's not summer, it's the end of autumn, and winter is coming. Robin is waiting for Regina to wake up outside her tent, thumbing a bit of twine on the parcel he has held onto since their trip to market days and days ago. He wanted to wait to give it to her, and now seemed like the perfect time. The ground beneath his feet is a little worse for wear from his pacing, when Snow meanders over to him.

"She's not here," the princess says, and at the look of disappointment on his face, she adds, "I think I saw her heading toward the river."

Robin extends his thanks to Snow and sets an excited pace. Clouds are starting to build, and he wants to take his solo walk with Regina before the sky opens up.

The trees stand tall on either side of the narrow path, and they shimmer radiant in the searing sunlight, but not a leaf is moving. There isn't a breath of wind, and the humidity hangs low and heavy all around. He swears a storm is brewing.

In an instant, he breaks beyond the tree line, and the features of the stream come into perfect view. A dull, sandy green of the grass grows thickly along the water's edge, dancing across the outer shore to emphasize the sandy beaches that lay just beyond.

The entire scene is beautiful, Robin thinks, and then he catches sight of Regina, and immediately he stops in his tracks, rooted to the spot, watching as she hastily disrobed her dress, fabric slipping off her shoulders. _Oh, God. _He should look away.

It isn't until that very dress falls from her fingertips and pools at her feet that Robin remembers to breathe. She heaves a sigh as the chilling breeze caresses her, naked and bathed in streams of sunlight. Robin watches enthralled as golden rays dance over her body, softening delicate angles and casting intriguing shadows across her skin.

_Be a gentlemen, Robin. Look away. Look away. _He chastises himself. Regina walks to the water's edge and steps into the glacial river. She shudders, and Robin shudders with her, but for an entirely different reason.

Time seems to slow.

Regina turns around, almost forgetting the tiny glass vial she brought down to wash with her left on the shore next to her dress and cloak. She picks it up and uncorks the stopper. She inhales and lets lavender oil perk her senses. She smiles and brushes away a strand of hair blown across her face by a sudden, damp breeze. She stands up, and her eyes meet a sight that makes her breath hitch and her pulse immediately begin to race.

_Robin_.

Regina grabs her cloak in a hurry and throws it around her shoulders. She isn't ashamed of her body, in fact, she likes the way her slender waist gives way to full curves, but for some reason, shyness grips her, and she wants to hide from Robin's unreadable gaze.

Rain begins to fall, and they both turn their faces up. Then their gazes meet again, and looks of dread and horror adorn their countenances. Within seconds, the heavens open up and drops, that were once sprinkles, transform into a full-blown torrential downpour, erupting out of the dark sky. A clap of thunder rips through the air. Regina squeals, and Robin breaks out in a run toward her, taking her by the upper arm and leading her to a row of thick trees. They huddle under protective branches and the cover of leaves. The tiny burst of adrenaline has them panting a little. Catching her breath, Regina looks up and finds that Robin is standing about eight feet away from her, just staring at her. Moments before, she couldn't read the look in his eyes, but now – now – now, she sees it for what it is. Desire. His eyes are practically devouring her. There is something else, but it is hard for her to pinpoint, she only knows it is magnetic.

Robin's hair, face, and clothing are soaked, moisture glistens on his skin, and she can only imagine what she looks like. As if floating, she glides across the wet grass to him, stands just steps away. He holds back from touching her, except with his eyes, which continue to roam her delicate features. His mouth opens slightly as if he is about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, his hand comes up; his wet fingers feather lightly against her temple as he smooths a sodden strand of hair out of her eyes. Regina is spellbound, only able to blink raindrops from her lashes as the pull of his gaze holds her captive.

Words like thief, outlaw, bandit, criminal, archer, leader, and father flash in her mind. Good, kind, caring, compassionate, strong, relentless, stubborn are just a few others that she's consciously aware are rolling around in her head. There are many others, but she can't seem to pull them forward, too entranced by his heated stare. No man has ever looked at her in such a way that his feelings lay bare before her. For a moment, a flicker of annoyance appears on her face. All she wanted to do was take a bath. It seems she can't even do that out here in the forest.

The rain, despite the frigid early winter air, feels wonderful on Robin's heated skin. Being around Regina makes his blood run hot, and the cool drops falling from the branches above them are a welcome respite after spying her bare as the day she was born.

Rain water drips off his nose and mouth and strands of his hair. Gazing across the space at the woman in front of him, a tiny smile lights his face as he thinks of how completely insane their situation is. He watches as she stands in frustration, not the way she imagined taking a bath, he ventures.

_Even now_, he muses, _she can't just stop and enjoy the moment, however ridiculous it is._

There is a certain sensuality in her stride, and he wills himself not to allow his eyes to drop below her face, knowing he would be able to clearly see the outline of certain parts of her figure through the very soaked tan cloak. Already has a clear picture of her full breasts, naval, rise of her arse, and the apex between her thighs. He isn't sure he'll be able to hold back his reaction, can already feel himself rising to the occasion. Curses himself for having no control around Regina.

Robin swallows and swallows saliva pooling in his mouth, and he tries to contain his arousal, but his body will not have it. His body knows how much his heart wants Regina as much as it wants her. She gazes up at him with such wonderment with mesmerizing, dark eyes. _What is she thinking? _Each of them wants desperately to close the distance between one another, but they hold back. He waits for her, she waits for him. His mouth begins to open, but the sight and nearness of her renders his voice completely powerless, so he raises a hand to touch her, his fingers grazing her temple as he tries to allow his eyes to convey his feelings.

Then Regina's hands move of their own accord and gently grasp either side of his face between her palms, almost as if to hold him still, as if she fears he would turn away. Neither knows how long they stand thus, transfixed, oblivious of their surroundings as pouring rain and lightning strikes around them. She doesn't give him time to ponder any longer, pulls his head to meet hers, lips crashing in a fury, slowly increasing in force as he acquiesces to her advance.

The feel of her lips on his, of her touch, and smell, and taste is like nothing he has ever experienced before, and it pulls at his gut. Her very being calls to him, and he finds he has never found another woman more alluring. He loved Marian, will always love Marian, but this is different. A month spent getting to know her more deeply, weeks spent trying to scale the walls she built up high, days spent listening to her, watching her with his son, pulling smiles and laughter from her throat, and falling for her. This is fire, and undeniable, and powerful, and with Regina, everything seems _more_.

Her lips break away from his with a gasp. _Oh, dear God, what has she done?_ Regina thinks, alarm quickly sets in.

Robin watches a storm of emotions play across her beautiful face. Uncertainty creases across her brow and fear sits at the tip of her tongue, ready to be voiced, but he won't have it, won't let those words come. Taking Regina in his arms, Robin crushes her to his chest as his head tilts to the right, his lips capture hers again, and he hears her let out a small noise in surprise, and soon her lips move under his, and they both moan in pleasure, deepening the kiss even more.

Neither cares about the rain, his wet clothing, or hers for that matter. His heart pounds fiercely, and then it jolts wildly when he feels the tip of her tongue, begging entrance to his mouth. Helpless to resist, he parts his lips to her, rewarded by the intoxicating sensation of her tongue, slipping past the barrier of his teeth and into his mouth, plunging deep inside. Robin turns them so her back rubs against the tree they're sheltered under. Another soft moan escapes her, and he stops himself from running his hands beneath her cloak, just one, thin layer of fabric separates him from her skin.

Regina shuts her eyes tight, getting swept away by this all-consuming wet, open-mouthed kiss with her thief. She is aware of every sensation, knows she should be concerned about the consequences of opening her heart to him, but she doesn't care. For once in her life, all she cares about is the feel of his hands at her neck as they tangle in her hair, the roughness of his stumble as it rubs against her jaw, the softness of his mouth as it molds with hers. Perhaps it's the situation, the vulnerability, and the rain. Perhaps it's all that or just her complete fascination with this man who so easily preoccupied her thoughts from the first moment he skillfully pointed his bow in her direction. Whatever the catalyst, she is helpless to do anything but pull him toward her.

Her arms rise to wind around his warmly sodden back and mold herself to his body, uncaring of their surroundings or her lack of dress. Camp and the long journey still ahead of them to her castle seem completely unimportant – even non-existent. With the tensing muscles of his chest pressing against her softness, and the added friction of his knee between her legs, Regina's lips break from Robin's, and she gasps. She arches her neck, and it gives him better access to a spot behind her ear that she didn't know would make her go weak in the knees. Robin uses his arms to hold her up and continues to suck and lap at her neck. She loves the way his tongue trails up her skin, and he knows she loves it, revels in making her squirm and whimper.

This definitely isn't what she had planned, when she trekked to the river this morning, but she isn't complaining, because this – this – this is so much better.

Robin and Regina have been teasing and toying with each other for weeks now, slowly building up tension behind a dam ready to overflow. His knee moves again, and Regina grinds herself against him. The dam bursts. And then, in the midst of it all, she hears what sounds like people shouting, _Regina!_ Hazily, she wonders why she would hear Snow White's voice in the middle of a rain storm, thinks she must be imagining things, continues to writhe under Robin's touches and kisses, and then slowly her foggy brain clears, and she realizes the sound she hears _is_ Snow's voice, and the downpour is now a light sprinkle. Taking in a quick breath, she pushes him away from her, he gazes down at her somewhat confused.

"Regina?" he whispers.

No words come from her plump lips. They're red and a bit swollen, and he aches to kiss them again. It doesn't take him long to figure out what she's about to do; he takes a step forward, but she takes one back, clutches her cloak more tightly around her, and disappears into a cloud of purple smoke.

With a soft sigh, Robin groans. She has to stop doing that. He looks down at his feet, the present he held under his arm earlier, now a sodding mess in the mud. He picks it up, and just in time too, because at that moment Snow walks into view. He uses the package to cover the evidence of pent up _pressure._

"Robin, did you find Regina? David and I were looking for you both. We wanted to talk about when we could move onto the castle," the princess states.

Robin purses his lips, bites back what he wants to say, _yes, thank you so kindly for ruining a perfectly good snog in the woods_, and instead he says, "No, shall we head back to camp?" he motions for her to lead the way.

Snow looks over Robin's shoulder at the river, raging from the added inches of rain.

"That storm hit pretty suddenly, didn't it?" she says, unaware of the dalliance she nipped in the bud.

"Quite a _storm, _indeed," Robin groans, an entirely different storm in mind. He looks up at the tumultuous clouds above. "And I'd say it's not quite over yet. We'll have another downpour before tomorrow dawns."

The short jaunt helps _cool_ him off, and by the time they walk back into camp, Regina is busy playing with Roland, fully dressed, dry hair, and as beautiful as ever.

Robin leaves camp shortly afterwards, needs a longer _cool down_ to remind his body that he is in the company of men and women and his son. He can't be reacting this way to Regina's close proximity. He leaves a word with Celia, a young girl who often watches Roland, says he'll be back before the sun rises the next day, needs adrenaline and physical activity (albeit not the kind he really desires) and leaves for a hunt. Little John and Much call after him, wanting to go with. He motions for them to follow.

* * *

On the horizon, dark clouds gather, reaching wispy grey slivers in the midnight sky, slowly seeking to erase all light. One star covered and then two. On and on, endlessly moving, racing toward the bright sphere hanging low in the autumn night. Clouds, heavy with water, slow their progress to a crawl and allow the moon a few more moments to shine on before they blotted out the pale glow. The crescent is bright in the darkened sky, illuminating the ground with a watery light and shining through the treetops. A deep rumbling hints at the thunderstorm that is about to break forth.

Roland never liked storms, hates the sound of them, afraid of the shadows and noises that bang and crash as trees sway and branches bend. On nights like these, he usually clings close to his papa's presence, but tonight his papa isn't here. Instead, Roland's laying Celia's tent, while she snores.

"Celia?" his soft voice shakes, and he pushes on her shoulder. "Celia, I'm scared."

The younger woman mumbles in her own foggy sleep. "Back to sleep, Roland. It'll be over soon."

Wind blows in a new direction. A bright flash of lightning cracks through the sky, alerting Roland to the nearing storm and drawing him toward the front of the tent.

"Celia," Roland whines. Thunder follows a few moments later, and he jumps in response. He doesn't want to stay here, doesn't feel safe. He needs his papa, but he is gone.

_Gina. He can go to Gina!_

The rain begins at that moment, instantly pouring down in sheets of water. It drowns out the sound of movement from inside the tent, and Roland's disappearance goes unnoticed by the young girl who is meant to be caring for him. Just then, the night brightens by another bright bolt, racing from the heavens, and Roland runs faster.

A chill howls and bites into his skin, puckers goosebumps all over his little arms. He moves his feet more quickly. Almost there. Soon he'd be with Regina. He didn't slow as he neared her tent and barrels through her tent flap, landing with a soft thud just inside.

Regina sits up immediately; the noise startles her from sleep.

"Gina?" Roland's tiny voice trembles in the darkness of the tent.

"Roland?"

A shuffling noise, and then he is in her arms. Soaked from the rain and shaking from the cold. Regina holds him tight to her. "Roland, sweetheart what's wrong?"

"I'm scared."

She's about to ask what has frightened him, when a deafening clap of thunder reverberates within her tent, causing Roland to bury himself into the crook of her neck.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's alright," Regina rubs soothing circles on the tot's back. Her voice low and comforting, she asks, "Where is your papa?"

"He went huntin' with uncle John and the others."

Regina nods. She forgot about that, saw the way Robin stalked off, awkward gait, tugging at the crotch of his pants. She smiles smugly, and then frowns while asking Roland, "Who was watching over you?"

"Celia, she was sleepin', and I got scared, and she wouldn't wake up."

She rolls her eyes. Teenagers. "Does she know you came here?"

"No."

Regina bristles. She's not about to go over there in this weather. Besides, perhaps if she awoke to a missing child, she might think twice before sleeping on the job next time.

"It's alright you can stay with me, okay?" she offers.

"Okay," Roland sighs, snuggling into her shoulder.

Before laying them down into the warmth of heavy blankets and furs, Regina uses her magic and makes Roland a new pair of sleepwear. She tousle dries his hair and peppers his little cheeks with kisses.

"It's so soft," he giggles and tells her, his small hands running down the fleece hugging his arms and legs and tummy.

'Mmhm, and it'll keep you nice and warm," she says, and taps him on the end of the nose before he crawls in bed beside her. Roland nuzzles into her chest, bringing back memories that fill her eyes with tears, but she doesn't dwell on what she doesn't have, only on what she does.

Roland yawns widely, his little hands holding her close.

"Go to sleep, sweet boy," Regina whispers and kisses the top of his head. "I'm right here."

"Gina," his whispers again, slowly being lulled to sleep by her warm embrace and soothing circles she's rubbing on his back. "Can I show you my fort tomorrow?"

"Of course, my darling," she says, pulls him closer to her, and falls asleep with his head of curls tucked beneath her chin.

* * *

A wet and miserable Robin trudges slowly back into camp a little later than he anticipated, light already breaks for morning. Much and Little John, a good twenty feet behind him, laughing at his expense. He is drenched to the bone, despite trying vainly throughout the walk back to keep his heavy cloak securely around him. And, again, he doesn't have anything to show for his hunt. He really needs to get his head in the game; otherwise his reputation amongst his men is going to suffer. He glances nervously across at the stream that has now grown into a raging river – the heavy swell of the water level, cutting into the soil and washing out the soft, sandy shoreline. There isn't any indication of a problem, yet. Though it is obvious, if the rain continues on in this fashion, they will be forced to relocate further into the forest.

It seems quieter here today; though the noise of the driving rain combined with the heavy wind keep most inside their tents. He realizes there are fewer people around, probably due to the continuing rain. Robin spies a couple working on securing patches on the roofs of some tents, while two more are covering the supplies traded the day before at market.

Robin kneels down beside the entrance to Celia's tent and pushes the flap aside. The water from the roof trickles annoyingly down his neck as he does so. He curses under his breath, and then shivers as the coldness seeps down his back. He casts his eyes to the place where he left his son next to Celia, but he is gone.

"Celia?" he calls in an attempt to wake her. "Celia," his voice now louder, and the young girl sits bolt upright.

"What?" she replies groggily.

"Where is Roland?"

Dismayed to discover that the bedroll next to her is empty, Celia pushes hair out of her troubled looking face. "He was right here," she says worriedly.

Robin's heart begins to pound. "Well he's not now." Getting to his feet, his eyes quickly scan the camp. He hears the tent open behind him, and Celia's small frame catches his peripheral view.

"Robin, I'm sorry…"

He cuts her off, he doesn't have time for apologies, and he tells her that. "Go, find Little John and have the men look around for him. I'm going to see if he went back to our tent."

She nods and runs in the direction of the others.

Robin wastes no time and is back at his tent in record speed. However, his chest fills with another bout of unease, when he finds it also to be empty. He wracks his mind, and knows it must have been the storm that sent the boy off. But where? Where would his son go? Where would Robin go if he needed comfort during a storm? Where would he feel safest? And then it hits Robin. _Of course. Oh, my boy. _A smiles spreads on his face, and he scrambles.

Roland is with Regina, he is sure of it. Robin doesn't knock, doesn't clear his throat to alert Regina to his presence. He just softly pulls back the flap to her tent, light from the outside spills in, and the sight before him makes his breath catch in his chest. An ache settles there, one that has his eyes misting with tears, at the sight before him. His son lays against Regina; one of his small hands grasps the front of her nightgown as if he is afraid she might leave him. His little head is nuzzled into the crook her neck. Regina's hair is splayed out around her head, and sunlight shines of it, makes her look a lot like the ethereal being he saw in the woods when they first met. She is stunning, but it's the way her arms are protectively wrapped around Roland in her sleep that truly tugs at Robin's heart.

This is not the first time Robin has realized the depth of his feelings for her, but seeing them like this makes him want to finally tell her, makes him want to take that leap and not be afraid she'll run. He tells himself to do it soon, reminds himself that life is short, and we never know what may happen. For now, he backs quietly out of the tent and goes to look for the others to call off the search.

His son is right where he needs to be.

* * *

When Regina and Roland finally wake up, they get ready for a new day and go in search of his papa. After berating Celia for not watching Roland, she tells the girl to stop crying and just not let it happen again. The young adolescent gives her word and bows in front of Regina. She tells her that formalities are unnecessary, and the girl thanks her again. Regina and Roland spend time with his papa, memories of their heavy petting and searing kisses preoccupy her thoughts, and she asks Roland if he'd like to show her his fort now. She needs to put some distance between her and Robin, unable to act upon the fantasies in her head with his son sitting on this log in between them.

"Yes!" he shouts, jumping off the log and pulling at her hand to stand. "Yes, please!"

"Oh, you're taking Regina to our fort, are you? May I come?" Robin asks.

"Nooo, papa," Roland groans. "Just me and Gina today, you played with her yesterday. It's my turn today."

Regina spits out the water in her mouth, choking and blushing. At a loss for words, Robin just stares at his lad, he licks his lips, and then cautiously asks, "Who told you Regina and I were playing yesterday, my boy?"

"Hmmm, I ask Much where you were yesterday 'cause we didn't go on our morning walk like we do every morning. But he said you and Gina were playin', having growned up time." Roland pauses in his retelling and then furrows his brows before asking, "Papa, what's growned up time?"

_Oh, my God, he was going to murder Much. _How did he even know where he and Regina were yesterday morning?

"Roland, why don't you show me your fort now?" Regina suggests, and the little toddler doesn't need any more convincing. They leave his father, but not before Regina can squeeze his hand and place a chaste kiss on his lips. She whispers into his ear, "Don't think I haven't forgotten about what we started yesterday."

The low, sultry rasp of her voice caresses his earlobe, and Robin shivers, remembering the way she felt pressed against him.

The floodgates, so to speak, are open, and there is no way either of them are going to close them now.

* * *

"Roland, be careful," Regina warns, as they get closer to the river.

"I'm careful, Gina. Papa and I go here all the time. It's my secret place." He runs up to the fallen tree trunk that connects the shorelines on both sides of the river.

Skillfully, he starts walking across it, and Regina spots his fort on the opposite side of the shore. It's a whimsical little thing. Cut branches, rocks packed at the base, a green flag flies in the wind. A fort fit for her little knight. The only problem is that even though Roland and Robin have crossed this log many times before, the river seems awfully high today. Much higher in fact, and the speed of raging water causes a pressure to build on the fallen tree from the buildup of debris and rocks from the storm.

"Roland, come back from there," Regina runs up behind him. "It's not safe anymore," she tells him, nearing the tree.

"It's fine, Gina. See!" he holds up his hands and jumps up and down on the tree.

On cue, an ominous creaking comes from within the log. Roland abruptly stops, his little feet shuffling backwards, back in the direction of Regina. Regina knows what is going to happen before it actually happens, but she doesn't have time to react proactively.

Her eyes fix on Roland, he screams at the top of his lungs, "_Gina_!" and her heart jumps into her throat.

It seems to take forever, but in reality, it's over in seconds. With a thunderous crack, the fallen tree beneath him gives way, the log pile heaves, and then jerks haphazardly. Roland's foothold slides seamlessly into the rapid stream, taking him with it.

Regina watches in horror as Roland disappears below the water's surface, her heart pounds. A strangled scream leaves Regina's throat; she tears across the shoreline, and without thinking, plunges into the raging river. It steals her breath, when the frigid water hits her chest. Regina struggles to breathe and doesn't fight the urge to be swept down the current, anything to reach Roland. She rids herself of the heavy cloak pulling her down, but the fabric of her dress still drags her under; she battles to stay afloat, to get to Roland. Using all of her strength she swims as fast and as hard as her arms will let her, and then some. And she doesn't know how, but she finally, _finally_ reaches him as he flails against the water.

Regina reaches out and takes hold of his sleeve, uses all of her might to pull him to her.

"Roland!" she gasps, tugging him to her.

Panicked, the boy wraps his arms around her neck, unknowingly pushing her back under dark, cold depths. Her strength is leaving her in a rush. If someone doesn't hear their shouts, they are both going to drown. She can't fight this much longer, can't kick her legs hard enough, and see the shoreline long enough to use magic, can't keep Roland high enough out of the water. Her lungs burn between desperate breaths. Water swirls, and pushes, and pulls, and drags. It batters, and beats, and knocks her about. Gasping for air, she finds the strength to push herself up, to pop both their heads above the surface, and that's when she notices it. A giant boulder. And they are headed right for it.

At the speed they're being tossed about in the rapids, Regina knows it's not going to be a gentle bump, and with the way she's holding onto Roland, he'll be sandwiched between the rock and herself, absorbing the full force of it. Regina pitches him sideways just in time, her side strikes the rock. A sharp pain radiates down her side, a cry leaves her lips, and she _almost _lets go of Roland, gulps down mouthfuls of water instead. Coughs, when her head meets air again.

Tears swept away by the river before they can be shed fill Regina's eyes as the pain intensifies. She wants to give in, needs to give in, might not be able to stop herself from giving in. She is so unbelievably tired, and she finds something darkly comical in that, because she had just decided she wanted to live, just started to open herself up, just started to believe in _love_ or at least believe in Robin.

And now, she's drowning. They're drowning. Anguish fills her and something inside her shouts, _No_. She lost Henry; she will not lose Roland, too. Using everything she has left, she gathers her magic inside her, just enough, no more, no less. She has one shot, needs to be able to see a place she can set him, needs a visual. She can't just magic him without knowing where she's going to put him. Just like she couldn't pull Emma from Neverland's oceans. Not without a visual.

She thinks about the people who mean the most to her. Memories of their time together flash before her eyes. It's cliché, she thinks, but she knows why people talk about _seeing the light_ just before _their_ time. Death knocking. This must be what it's like.

Regina thinks about the first time she held Henry in her arms, thinks about the first time she met a twelve-year-old Snow, thinks about her first glimpse of her little dimpled knight, thinks about her first encounter with Robin.

Robin.

He would never forgive her if she let Roland die.

She would never forgive herself. She kicks one last time, breaks the surface of the water long enough to see a patch of dry land, and with a weak wave of her wrist, Roland's weight leaves her.

A high-pitched ringing fills her ears. The relentless, torrential sound of the rapids, and the overwhelming flow of water drags her under, prevents her from seeing a cloud of purple and illuminating white dissipate to reveal a sputtering and coughing Roland on the shore.

Regina slips below the surface, and then there's nothing.

**Disclaimer: not mine**


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Thank you so much for the love and encouragement you've sent while reading this story. Sometimes I post things about it on Tumblr. You can find me there at outlawqueenluvr. XOXO, Jess

* * *

Black Ink and a Prophecy

_Fifteen Minutes Ago_

Not long after Roland and Regina left Robin sitting in front of the low burning fire, John and Much meandered over to their fearless leader.

"Morning, gentlemen," Robin greets.

"Gentlemen? She's rubbing off on you, you know. All this proper speech and whatnot," Much teases jestingly. "What happened to the foul-mouthed thief we're so used to?"

"You offend, I'm quite sure nothing's changed about that," Robin assures, chuckling a bit. He stands and crosses his arms. "Maybe for once you lot aren't screwing up as much, so I have no need to curse you as openly."

"Or maybe you fancy the queen, and you're smitten. I caught the two of you red-handed not yesterday, snogging under a tree. Good thing I'm light on my feet otherwise, I'd have ruined a perfectly good moment," Much winks. He bends down and grabs up the last few crumbs of Robin's scone, licking his fingers.

So that's how his friend knew and told Roland of his papa's playtime with Regina. Robin lets his head hang down and groans, kicking at dust, because he knows what's about to come next.

"You and the queen were doing what?" Little John asks alarmingly, not giving the archer a chance to baulk at Much's comment. "Robin, remember what I said about her? I know you want to see the good, but you still need to be cautious."

There it is.

"We've talked about this John–" Robin begins, but is cut off by a clap on his shoulder and Much's voice.

"Oh, for the love of all that's good and holy, give Robin a break, man. Don't be a wind-sucker, John. It doesn't suit you."

John looks annoyed, grinding his teeth together, but instead of responding he turns his attention back to the task at hand.

"We thought it best to survey the river and our outposts given the severity of the storm yesterday. Wanted to know if you'd like to join," the big, bear of a man huffs.

"Ah, so you had more productive intentions other than enjoying a laugh at my expense. Well, in that case, let's get a move on you scoundrels," Robin instructs, standing up.

He grabs his bow and leads the way. Maybe if the fate's smile on him, they can catch up to Regina and Roland before they reach his son's fort.

It doesn't take but minutes for them to approach the western bend of the riverbank, on higher ground than the usually tranquil, flowing stream. Not but a quick sprint to where Regina and Roland are probably crossing the fallen log bridge at any moment. The sound of the rapids is deafening, and Much's good God, the river has become a beast, forces Robin to look up.

To their great dismay, they see the waterline is swollen to at least five times its normal width and depth. The channel moves at an alarming speed, gobbling up anything in its path. Robin's heart begins to pound. There is no mistaking the treachery of water when there is plenty of it, and it is angry enough. And this river looks very angry.

"Isn't Roland's fort across the river?" John asks, watching the sweeping current. And as if on cue, all three of them hear a strangled scream and halt in their steps.

A silent understanding passed between them, and each man dashes along the shore. The scream unmistakable, Robin runs faster than he's ever run before, another panicked yell cuts through the air, and he darts over small boulders and broken branches, ripped off by last night's gale winds. Much and Little John try desperately to keep up with him. When he rounds the bend, he sees that the usual log that he and Roland cross to get to their fort is gone, dislodged and pulled from its place. He doesn't halt his pace, keeps going because he knows that if Regina and Roland aren't here, and neither is the log, then there's only one place they can be – in the river – and the shout that follows yanks his eyes down river.

Frantically, his eyes rake over the rapids, while he barrels forward. He can't see anything, fuck, where are they, he shouts. Much and John catch up behind him, and Much hollers and points. Robin's gaze follows his motion; he sees what his friend sees, and his feet carry him faster than he thought possible.

Everything happens so quickly after that. He hears Regina's strangled shouts and Roland's shrieking cries; he can see them, her arms flailing, Roland's holding tightly onto her neck, and his grip keeps pushing her under water. Robin shouts their names, but they can't hear him over the roaring rapids. He's trying not to trip, stumbling and hoisting himself up and over rocks. He's so close, just forty or fifty feet away from them, but it might as well be miles, because as soon as he gains distance, the river steals Regina and his son away from him further downstream.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins, and he's grateful for years of running from the law and trekking over mountainous terrain, because it's helping him push forward, helping him not to lose momentum. Regina crashes into a boulder, the river drags her and his son down, and they disappear from his sight again.

"Robin!" John shouts. "We have to cut them off before they reach the falls!"

"I know!" he yells back, and he also knows the moment he slows down, he's going to fall apart.

He refuses to lose Roland, refuses to lose Regina. He will not say goodbye to someone he loves again.

Robin trips and almost face plants into the dirt. Gravel and mud cling to his palms, and when he looks up and pushes himself off the ground, his breath leaves him.

Roland is no longer in the river, he appears on the shore twenty feet in front of him, and a purple and silvery, white cloud dissipates around his son. Roland coughs, and sputters, and cries, but he seems to be alright, and Regina is still in the roaring rapids.

"Much! John!"

"We got him. Go!"

The father runs toward the edge of the riverbank and propels himself out over the water as far as he can. The frigid river bites at his skin, and he worries even more about how long Regina has been under the surface. He needs to get to her soon. Robin swims, and kicks, and strokes his arms through the water, pulling his body more quickly through the current. Moments more pass, and the powers that be must be someone looking out for him, because Regina gasps above the surface, stopped by a cluster of rock and tree limbs built up by the storm. He paddles hard and makes it to her just as she slips below the surface again.

Robin dives under, and when he breaks above the rapids again, he's holding her in his arms. Regina's head lulls forward, and he has to keep her face above the water. He clings to her with one arm and grabs onto a low-hanging branch, the force of the current, trying to rip him back into its death like grip again. When he finally pulls them both to shore. Each harsh inhale burns, but his only concern is for the woman in his arms. He places her down in a clearing, and rests his hand gently on her chest, trying to feel for the rise and fall of life in her lungs, but it does not come.

Cold panic grips his heart.

"Regina?" he shouts, swiping plastered strands of drenched hair on her forehead out of her face. He cups her pale cheeks.

Regina is unresponsive. She draws no breath. A desperation that he's only felt one other time in his life seizes him. She must breath, he thinks. She must. He needs to do something. She is a pale, ghostly white, and her once bright lips are deathly blue. Robin grips her shoulders and shakes her gently.

"Regina, please breathe," he pleads, a sob escapes his throat, her head hangs awkwardly to the side and nothing.

"I won't let you do this!' he demands, tears building in his eyes. "I will not let you leave me. Not when I've only just found you."

If she can't breathe, Robin will breathe for her. He places his lips on hers, pinches her nose, and exhales into her mouth, again, and again, and again, an inhale shortly followed by a puff of air. Robin breathes for Regina. Every moment that she doesn't take her own is another moment he feels darkness anchor a foothold, her life slipping through his fingers.

You will not have her, he tells it.

Again, he breathes into her. Long and deep, and he pulls back. Rain drizzles, mixing with tears dripping gently on her face.

"Regina, please," he whispers into her neck.

Robin's fingertips trace from her temple to her chin. He lets his head fall onto her chest, his shoulders shaking in grief.

Once more, he tells himself. Just once more.

His lips quiver as they press against hers, and he exhales one final time. Robin swallows a hard lump in his throat and sighs painfully. He presses his forehead to Regina's and doesn't hold back. He cries, sobs course through his body, and then Regina coughs, water sputters out of her mouth, and it's the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. Her eyes flutter open, he kisses her temple.

"Robin?" she rasps, and he laughs in relief – in pure heartfelt relief – because he hasn't lost her, doesn't need to imagine life without her, can continue to spend mornings with her by the campfire with Roland, eating biscuits, and drinking milk, and enjoying the real reason he suggested he and his son bring the Queen breakfast all those weeks ago – to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to touch her hand if she let him, to smell her faint perfume, and proceed to fall more madly in love with her.

Regina's fingers cling to his water-logged jacket, and he holds onto her so tightly his face smothers in her hair. He breathes her in, whispering that he's got her.

"I'll never let you go," Robin says, heaving a deep sigh. Regina believes him, completely trusts him, and for the first time, she feels safe.

He tightens his hold on her, and she gasps painfully. His brow creases in worry and fear.

"Regina?" he implores, pushing back hair that has fallen across her brow. Her eyes close. "Regina, are you hurt?" But, she doesn't answer.

With the little he knows about healing, the one detail he does know echoes in his head.

Never move the wounded when you don't know the extent of their injuries.

He casts his eyes about anxiously and sees Much running toward them.

"Stay with me, Regina. Open those beautiful eyes," he says, trying to keep her conscious.

She blinks languidly, and Robin presses his lips to the top of her head.

"You're going to be alright," he soothes against her ear, wiping tears away from his eyes. "Stay with me. Roland needs you. I need you."

Much sinks down beside him.

"Where's my boy?" Robin asks quickly.

"John took him back to camp. Our littlest Merry Man is in good care. He's fine, just shaken and a little cold. He's worried about her. How is she, she alive?" Much asks in dread, hand on his leader's shoulder.

Robin takes a deep breath and tries to control the quiver in his voice.

"Yes, but she's hurt. I'm afraid to move her, I can't see what's wrong."

"She is strong, Robin. She'll be alright."

Robin nods and closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. When his gaze meets his friend's again, he tells him, "We have to get her back to camp. Go, warn the others I'm bringing her."

Robin bends his knees and gently gathers Regina into his arms, rising to his feet. He wants to run, but he does not want to risk injuring her further. He sets out on a fast walk. Perhaps it's from fright that he cannot feel her weight, but she is alarmingly light in his arms. Robin quickens his pace just a tad. His arms ache, and he's unbelievably exhausted, but the idea of letting her go even for a moment is abhorrent. He will not rest until he knows for certain she is out of the woods, warm and safe in the comfort of camp.

Robin feels Regina's fingers grasp his hand, and she groans when he jostles her a bit to get a better hold on her.

"Regina?" he whispers hopefully.

"Robin," she pants, her eyes remaining closed and her brow furrowed in pain. "My side…hurts."

He turns worried eyes to his hand holding her to him. "We're nearly there, Regina. Just hold on for me a bit longer."

Regina tries to take a deep breath, but she can't, a burning prevents her, and her eyes flicker open again.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice hushed and gravelly.

"You almost drowned," he says, and then sees horror wash over her face. He knows what she must have just realized. She immediately tries to pull herself up in his arm, but the sudden movement pulls an agonized cry from her lips.

"Regina, stop! It's okay. Roland's okay. He's fine," Robin reassures her. "He's with John."

Once she knows her dimpled, little knight is safe; she lets herself relax into Robin's protective hold. He doesn't want to, but he needs adjust her weight again, otherwise he's going to drop her. He shifts his arms and pulls her up closer to his chest. She gasps, a pain as she's never felt before radiates through her like white, hot knives, and it's too much. She succumbs to blackness.

Robin can count the number of times he has felt this distressed and helpless with three fingers. The first, when illness rooted its way into his wife, threatening to take her life and the life of their unborn child. The second, a tragic night that continues to haunt him, the night he lost his Marian. The third, when Roland woke from his first nightmare, hiccupping because of inconsolable sobs that wracked his tiny, little body.

Now, he's just as equally helpless, with Regina blacked out in his arms, her lips tinged blue and slightly purple. For the first time, in a long time, Robin is terribly frightened, and something – an emotion he hasn't felt in quite a while – chokes his heart and churns his stomach.

Robin runs back into camp, Regina hangs limply in his protective hold.

Snow sees them first, her eyes squint in confusion before they widen, finally focusing on Robin's frantic facial expression, an unconscious Regina in his arms. Snow drops the firewood she carries and rushes toward them. Much shouts for Doc and Granny.

"Come on, her tent is over here," Snow says, motioning to the other side of camp.

Robin shakes his head, "No, mine's closer," he directs the princess with a nod of his head. Snow doesn't argue and follows him, hearing her stepmother moan in his arms.

"I've got you, Regina," Robin says to her as she starts to come back to him, her eyes flutter open. His steps become more determined as he gets to the entrance of his tent. Granny and Doc run up behind them, Snow moves the heavy canvas aside, and Robin ducks in.

He easily lays Regina on a high table near the center of his tent. He and Roland usually use it to build castles and play make believe. It's been the wall of a fortress, the cave of a dragon's lair, the foundation of an impenetrable fortress. This is the first time he's used it as a makeshift healer's table.

"What happened?" Doc inquires.

Regina whimpers, biting her bottom lip, her eyes still hazy after regaining consciousness. Her side burns, and she's afraid to touch it. She's vaguely aware that Robin carried her here, jumped into the river after her and dragged her out, moments before she was about to drown. She can hear Robin telling the dwarf, Snow and Granny about the rapids, Roland, her passing out and grasping her side. Their voices start to sound fuzzy, and she's faintly aware of the fact that the room has started to spin.

Regina does her best to control her breathing, but, even so, it's proving difficult, especially with her corset constricting with every exhale of precious air. Weakly, she closes her eyes, tries to breath in through her nose and out through her mouth deeply, the rise and fall of her chest short and sporadic.

Oh, God, she can't breath.

She barely lifts her hand, tries to get their attention, but Snow, and Granny, and Doc aren't looking at her face. Her gaze shifts up, and her brown eyes meet with Robin's deep blues, silently pleading.

Robin's brow furrows in horror, and he realizes what ails her instantly. In a fluid motion, he grabs the hunting knife secured at his waist, cuts the strings of the offending garment that's compressing her lungs, and, in one, quick and gentle swipe, frees her of it. The corset flies open, and leaning her head back, Regina lets out a pained gasp and grateful sigh. She's left in the skirt of her dress and a thin, linen blouse.

"Robin!" Snow shouts.

"Can't you see, she can't breath!" he cups Regina's cheek and wipes her wet, matted hair away from her face.

Modesty, Regina thinks, the least of her worries.

"Robin," she pants, fingers shaking as she motions toward her injury. "I think i-it's… b-broken…ribs."

Doc's eyebrows raise, and he begins to assess her side, lifting the fabric of her shirt up to rest just below her breasts.

Her creamy skin already swollen below her ribs and bruised a deep, ugly violet.

Regina stifles a small cry, and Robin takes her trembling hand in his. Every touch, every move, unbearable. She tries not to shout out as his fingers poke and prod ever so gently, continues to stare above her, not wanting to make eye contact with the other three people in the room, focusing only on the thief's gaze, in fear of losing control of her emotions. She needs to be strong, even if tears threaten to cloud her vision.

Robin stands behind her, one of her hands in his, but his other is gently placed at her temple, thumb stroking against her skin. He hears it before he sees it; his eyes leave those around her and he looks down to find her teeth are chattering from cold. That's when he notices the hand he holds in his is like ice.

Robin rubs her hand between his, then up and down both her forearms. He needs to get her warm. He bends down so only she can hear him. "Just a bit longer. Then I'll make a fire and we'll get you under furs."

"Y-you're c-cold, too," she stutters.

He interrupts her with a kiss on her brow. "I'm alright."

Silence lingers. He kissed her on her brow. He swallows, flicking his eyes to Snow and Granny. They're not looking at him, but he knows they both saw the gesture of affection.

"Dear," Doc says, pity in his voice.

Regina lifts her head, but Robin pushes her down to prevent her from rising any further. She groans and black specks dance across her vision. Doc examines the swelled area below and around her right lower ribs with a kind touch. She bites her lip again and represses another cry with each touch on her skin, registering the worry in all of their quiet voices.

Robin's eyes are stormy as they meet hers.

Snow stands still, hasn't moved a muscle, and, as always, her eyes shine with sympathy. As for Doc, his gaze is determined and highly concentrated on her injury.

"You're in luck, your majesty," Doc says, "only a couple of broken ribs."

"Are you kidding me?" Regina utters in shock, attempting to sit up on her elbows, she's stubborn and her anger flares up for a moment at what the dwarf is implying. As if those broken bones weren't , once again, holds her in place with the slight pressure of his hand.

"This won't take long. I just need to set them. Hold her down," Doc says, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead.

"I'm right here, you can address me," Regina hisses through clenched teeth, panting through pained breathes.

She knows talking is probably making it worse, each word requires her lungs, and, thus, her rib cage to expand with each push and pull of air.

Doc nods at Snow, Granny and Robin. Granny moves to Regina's legs, bracing her elderly but sturdy arms around them as Robin places his other hand on her other shoulder, preventing Regina from moving. His touch is strong but gentle. Snow comes to stand by Regina's side opposite from Doc, she grabs her hand and gently squeezes, trying to be reassuring, but what Regina sees in Snow's eyes scares her.

This isn't going to be pleasant.

"Everyone ready?" Doc says, placing his fingers over a rib.

Regina whines again, his touch burns her skin. Doc's hands barely touch her. She whimpers, because she knows this is going to hurt – a lot. She breathes more rapidly, eyes darting around to each of their faces.

Why can't she just use magic? Curse Rumplestiltskin for never teaching her how to stitch skin and bone back together again, curse him for only showing her how to break necks and steal hearts and ruin lives. Curse her dark magic, and anger, and temper for preventing her from manipulating light into healing sickness and ailments.

"Hold her down," Doc says.

"No, w-wait. Give me a minute…" Regina says, struggling to see him, but she can't from this angle, not with Robin's hands on her shoulders.

Robin bends down, and she hears his voice in her ear, "I'm here, Regina," before he stands and nods at Doc to continue, but that's all Regina catches before Doc abruptly presses down on her torso, and a strangled scream rips through her throat and into Robin's tent. It's enough to make everyone, in and outside the canvas home, jump out of their skins from the unexpected, deafening noise.

Regina flings her head back, trying to move away from the torturing pain, the horrible throbbing now running from the tip of her toes, up her spine, and into her brain. Granny and Robin apply more pressure on their hold, doing their best to keep her as still as possible.

Doc keeps a heavy hand on her side as Regina continues to spasm uncontrollably, tears flow down her face, and she has no self-control over the tremors that rage within her body.

Snow grabs a small basin of cold water from behind her, takes a cloth and soaks it, draining the excess liquid, she hands it to Robin before grabbing another one.

"Here," Snow says, water dripping from her hands. "It'll ease the swelling."

Regina's skin is pale, her body is trying to cope with her injury, her temperature rising as it fights against the unforgiving boulder's damage. Robin gently eases the cloth onto her skin, soothing it over her brow, down the side of her face, and along the hollow of her neck, he lifts her slightly so she's sitting, leaning all of her weight against his chest.

"It's going to be alright," Robin assures her, and presses a kiss against her temple. He doesn't care who sees it.

Her head lolls to the side and rests into his shoulder; the top of her hair tickles the bottom of his chin. Color flushes her cheeks, her sickly complexion slowly disappearing.

"See, that wasn't so bad, your majesty," Doc says, taking the other cloth from Snow and holding it to Regina's tender skin.

"I-I'll... kill you," she mutters. Doc's eyes widen before everyone begins to chuckle except for Robin. He only smirks and continues to gently dab the cool cloth against her skin, wicking sweat away.

There's his sassy queen.

"We need to wrap her ribs," Granny states.

Robin feels Regina inhale – ready to bite back – no doubt to make known to everyone that she is indeed, 'fine' but he puts his hand on her arm.

"Regina, she's right. It'll help you heal and make it easier to breathe. Let them help you," he insists. His hold on her is gentle, but his grip on her is strong.

"Fine, but get rid of the audience," she huffs indignantly, glancing down; she sweeps her gaze past her chest.

He follows her eye line and knows immediately what she means. Her bust is obvious, made more tantalizing by her wet smock. Granny nods to Robin and shoos Snow White and Doc away, both reluctant to leave, but she assures them she has it under control.

"Would you prefer I left as well?" Robin offers.

She stares at her front for a moment longer then back up at Robin. He stares as well, so she clears her throat to get his attention.

"No, it's nothing you haven't seen already," she attempts a smirk, but it comes out as a grimace when she tries to shift in his arms.

"Robin, I'm going to need your help." Granny says, already moving around the room. "Do you have another shirt?"

He nods, telling her he did.

"Can you sit?" he asks Regina, and she tells him she can. Robin leaves her back and picks one up one from the pile of fresh shirts cleaned earlier in the morning. He waves it behind him toward Granny, averting his eyes from what he thinks is about to happen. He may have seen Regina baked before, but he will be a gentlemen until she desires otherwise.

"Here," he offers blindly, but feels Granny push it back toward him.

"Good, I'll help her out of this wet shirt, and you grab a knife. If you can, cut or tear it into one long strip, about as wide as that blade of yours. A spiral cut from the bottom will do. We'll use it to bind her ribs, and get yourself out of that wet shirt, you're gonna have to help me hold her, and the last thing I need is for her to be any colder than she already is. Think you can handle this boy?"

Robin's mouth goes dry, but he replies with an, "if that's what you require." He sets the shirt he's about to shred down on the table next to Regina, and then turns his back to her before peeling his sopping garment off. Regina peers at him as Granny helps her ease her own shirt off, giving him a peeved look.

"You wanted to stay, remember? Don't coy-up on me now."

''Coyness is not the problem," he mutters under his breath, grabbing another tunic, he pulls it on.

Granny continues, "I need you to help steady Regina on her feet, while I do the binding. It needs to be tight, and it's too awkward for me to hold her as well. I won't be able to get it compressed enough."

Pulling out the hunting knife from his belt, Robin gets to work. "I've got it," he tells her, and within a few minutes, he transforms one of his shirts into a length of fabric and offers it to Granny.

"Alright, help her to her feet," she instructs.

Robin swallows and turns toward Regina, wearing only her soft, floor length skirt; water drips from the hem and muddies the ground. Although, her arm is draped modestly over her breasts – demureness intact – the air leaves Robin's lungs in a rush, and he swallows hard at the sight of her.

She truly is stunning.

Bathed in beams of light streaming in from a few cracks where the canvas flap rustles because of wind, Regina's body is all soft edges and gentle lines; she looks too fragile, too delicate for that of a once Evil Queen.

Trying desperately to keep his eyes level with hers, Robin holds his arms out and looks at her questioningly.

Regina nods slowly and lifts her arms lightly; he steps forward and grips her very carefully under her upper limbs. He slides her very slowly, very gently off the table, but she still grimaces the moment her feet touch the ground.

Granny's voice breaks the silence. "Okay, lover boy, get behind her and help keep her straight and tall. I need to wrap it around her, nice and taut, so leave me some room between you."

Robin changes his mind. He doesn't want to be this close to her, doesn't want to feel her wet, heated skin against his, such an intimate position that he can't possibly act upon, even though his body already perks to attention. What the bloody hell is he doing in here?

Time seems to slow down as Robin moves to stand behind her – so close they're almost spooning. The expanse of Regina's naked back right in front of him, enough to make him nearly insane with want, and he quashes the urge to press her against him. She's hurt, he tells himself. But, as he looks over her shoulder to see where to place his hands, his willpower wavers. Robin closes his eyes and very nearly groans aloud, recalling their snog during the rainstorm.

When he dares to look up again, he finds his gaze connecting with Regina's. She turned her head and is staring at him, her eyes wide and searching. Robin licks his lips and swallows again; her mouth is barely an arrow's tip away, and her unsteady breath feathers across his cheek, making him shiver. Regina can tell by his somewhat labored breathing that their closeness has him in state. She smiles at him and can't help herself.

"Look at it this way, now we both get to be uncomfortable," Regina teases. "It only seems fair."

"Uncomfortable?" he questions, pausing to clear his throat. "Uh-huh, I'd say that only covers half of what I'm feeling."

Robin's pretty sure aroused is more on target, but now is certainly not the time to dwell on that. His eyes hold hers and an inclination of his head indicates his hesitant agreement.

"Cross your arms together, high up in front of you, and I'll hold you."

"I'm sure you will," she grins, following his instructs, crossing her arms around her breasts. Robin bites his bottom lip and scowls at her.

"I see, the lady refuses to help appease the situation," he whispers into her ear.

Regina feels his arms come from behind her to wrap around hers, keeping her steady.

Granny walks up to Regina, the torn fabric in her hands. "I won't lie. This is going to hurt, girl, but not as much as it did setting them."

"I can handle it," Regina growls, the pain from standing already making her queasy. "Just get it over with." She presses her lips together tightly as the old woman gets to work.

* * *

It's much later in the day by the time Granny exists the tent. She shooed Robin out shortly after they finished wrapping Regina's ribs and made him wait anxiously outside with the others. She wipes her hands on her apron and walks over to the small group of people gathered around.

"She's sore as can be, but she'll live," she tells them. "She just needs rest. No bothering her, I mean it."

Snow sighs in relief, and she and Charming make themselves busy. Robin sits on the ground with Roland tucked between his knees. The tiny tot draws pictures in the dirt with a stick. After he left Regina and Granny, he immediately went to get his son from Little John's care. His boy jumped into his arms instantly, and Robin pressed his face into his son's hair, hugging him as tightly as he could, a lot to be thankful for.

Granny put her hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Here, give him to me, lover boy. She wants to see you," she smirks, patting his head like he's the child who needs consoling. He stands and passes his child to her. "And don't think my old ears didn't hear your lovey dovey talk in there. You're not as subtle as you think, when the two of you are together."

Robin laughs and runs his fingers through his hair. He walks over to the campfire and swipes a wooden cup off a table. He fills it with the simmering tea he made for Regina. Just before he ducks into his tent, he hears his son ask, "What's lovey dovey?"

He closes the canvas flap behind him and scans the inner room. Wet clothes drape over a chair, candles light the area, and Regina's rests in his bed, cocooned in furs and wool blankets. She smiles up at him tiredly and pats the space beside her. Robin happily snuggles next to her, helps her shift her weight so she can lean against him. He hands her the drink, and she sips it gratefully. He drapes his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. Frowning, he pulls away.

"Your hair is dry," he states, but she knows there's a question in there.

"Magic was at least a little good for something today," she sighs.

"And your clothes, you didn't want to take care of those?" he motions toward where they hang.

"I'm still quite exhausted," she says. "I have to let my magic recover. It's not unlimited, you know."

"Hmm, I see. And the reason you couldn't just heal yourself? Was that for the same reason?"

Regina scrunches up her brow. "I've never been good with that particular vein of magic. On myself or on anyone else. Magic is fueled by emotion, and I learned at a young age that mine is powered by anger. Hard to heal someone and think lovely thoughts when anger is your focus," she says, sounding a little ashamed.

"Have you ever tried?" he asks, thumb back to stroking her arm.

"Yes. A few times actually. Last year, Henry had a burn on his arm, and I couldn't heal him … but Rumplestiltskin could. I'm not really sure what that says about me."

It pains Robin that she thinks so little of herself, and he decides he'll spend as long as it takes to convince her of her importance, to show her that she's valuable, that she's worthy of praise, and goodness, and the happy ending she doesn't believe she deserves.

Robin kisses the top of her head again. He listens to her as she tells him more about how she met Rumple, how he became her mentor, which leads to a discussion about her mother, about the things they both did to her. He knows there's more behind that story, but he doesn't force her to reveal anymore than she's willing. She tells him about Henry – someone they talk about frequently now, ever since he told her to put her heart back into her chest (more like shouted at her to put it back in her chest).

"Are you certain you do not require anything else?" he queries yet again, tucking another blanket around Regina, ensuring that her injured side is comfortably supported by many quilts and furs.

"I'm certain," she replies, holding the cup of tea he brought her between her hands to warm them.

"Are you in much pain? I can adjust these if you'd like to lay back further…"

"Please stop, Robin. I'm fine," she tries to reassure him with a smile.

"What about your head?"

"Robin."

"Yes?"

"My head is fine. Stop fussing," she holds his hand tenderly and lifts her eyes to his. He peers into hers. Regina tentatively places her palm on his chest. "Robin, I'm right here."

"I know," he comments softly, lightly brushing his thumb over her lips. He lowers his gaze to their hands entwined between them; he doesn't want her to see the wetness threatening to spill out of his eyes. "But when I pulled you from that river..." his voice breaks, and he clears his throat to continue. "Regina, I cannot lose you."

She reaches out and cups his face. "Hey, hey," she makes him look at her. "You won't. And I'm sorry I let Roland get so close to that river. You could have lost him because of me," her lower lip trembles.

He takes her chin gently in his, not caring if she sees his tears. "No, Regina. That's where you're wrong. He's here safe with us because of you."

"Robin…" she breathes softly, tears spill past her lashes.

"My son is alive because of you. That's twice now you've saved him. You've given me the best gift imaginable," he sighs and touches his forehead to hers. Regina yawns and blushes embarrassed.

"I'll go so you can get some sleep," Robin says.

She hears his hesitance to leave her, so she gives voice to what they both want.

"No, stay with me."

"Regina?"

"Please, don't go," she says again, and Robin needs no more convincing.

Robin dotes on Regina day and night after that, and instead of breakfast by the fire they have breakfast in bed. Roland attaches himself at Regina's hip even more so than before, singing her little rhymes and bringing her daffodils almost every morning. Rain comes and goes, fills and refills the river, a reminder of what they almost lost, but they don't dwell on what happened that day.

Robin kisses her sweetly, and Regina responds in kind. Their touches and caresses are more exploratory as days tick by; they pant and moan impatiently in the privacy of his or her tent, but they're limited by two aggravating, broken bones still fusing themselves together.

Two weeks later, Regina's ribs are on their way to healing nicely, still sore and bruised, but the pain is tolerable and doesn't confine her in bed any longer. After a morning of light, but persistent rain, the late afternoon skies finally lighten a little, and everyone takes full advantage of the opportunity to be outdoors without being soaked to the skin. Regina asks Roland if he'd like to do something fun. Of course he responds, yes, and he eagerly takes her hand.

* * *

Thirty Minutes Later Only a Hop, Skip and a Jump Outside Camp

"Are you sure it's safe?" Robin asks worriedly, as he watches Regina sit an excited, little Roland on a new rope and board swing, she created and attached to the branch of an old, oak tree.

She turns and gives him a wry look. "You tested it yourself," she laughs.

He swallows. "I know, but he's still so small and this contraption..."

"I won't let anything happen to him, Robin," she assures him, moving to stand behind the little boy. "It's perfectly safe, I promise. I used magic to make sure the rope is as secure as possible."

"Push, Gina," Roland implores with an added, "Pease ..." Having seen his father on the swing only moments ago, he knows exactly what should happen, but just can't seem to get going. He kicks his stubby, little legs to no effect.

Regina chuckles. "Patience, my little knight," she exhorts indulgently, giving the wooden seat a gentle push so the swinging motion begins.

"Again, Gina," he squeals elatedly.

"Hold on tight," she warns.

Roland nods and grips the ropes more tightly. Again, she pushes so the swinging movement becomes a little more pronounced.

The dimpled boy giggles and strikes his legs out, calling, "Up ... more ... higher, Gina!"

"Not too high," Robin says, torn between delighting in his son's happiness and worrying about his safety.

"You can go over and stand in front," offers Regina with a smile. "Then you can catch him if he lets go," she adds playfully.

At that terrifying thought, Robin hastily moves across to face his son as he delightedly swings back and forth, now between the two adults. After a while, Robin relaxes as Roland clings to the ropes, all the while laughing and shouting out gleefully. "Look papa ... I'm flying!" he exclaims. "Up, Gina, again," he urges more than once. His cheeks turn rosy from the excitement and his mop of brown curls toss carelessly in the cool breeze. Both Regina and Robin join in the fun and laughter, gently pushing the jubilant boy on his new toy.

Snow, returning to their camp from a walk with Charming, stands and watches the scene for a moment before they notice her. She smiles broadly at the little boy's laughter and Regina's obvious enjoyment. Robin acknowledges her first presence first, waves and beckons her over. She drops her heavy cloak and heads over to the tree.

"Look Princess Snow ... I'm flyin'!" calls Roland as she approaches.

Snow chuckles and replies, "You sure are, Roland." She walks over to Regina. "Can I push?" she asks, wanting to help.

She knows Regina is still healing and stubborn enough that she probably refused Robin's assistance. Regina rolls her eyes, but nods and steps back.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," Regina says, pursing her lips.

"We know, but we worry about you."

Their play date at the swing continues for a while longer. Snow even takes a turn on it with Roland on her knees. Charming joins in and pushes. Robin and Regina cuddle together in the shade, watch them quietly until Granny hollers, "Dinner! I may be the cook, but I'm not your servant, come and get it."

Snow slips off the board and hoists the tiny tot onto her hip. "Roland, dinner is ready. Would you like to go with me and wash up?"

The toddler wriggles in her arms. "No, I want to swing more," he whines. "Papa, can I swing some more?" he begs.

Snow jiggles him in her arms playfully. "We can play some more tomorrow," she promises. "But I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry too?"

He shakes his head. "No, I want to play."

"Well, you know what, I think Granny made more cakes."

He stops wriggling and regards her seriously, as if weighing up his options. He looks back at Regina and his Papa and then to Snow. At last he nods, wraps his arms around her neck, and allows her to carry him to the camp. "Papa, Gina come on! There are cakes!"

Regina and Robin look on, a distinct sparkle of amusement and love in their eyes.

"He's strong willed, isn't he?" remarks Robin ruefully, looking to Regina for agreement.

Her eyes meet his. "He seems to take after his father," she sasses with a playful smile. He laughs and helps her stand up.

"Roland was having a wonderful time," he tells her, taking her hand in his. "Thank you."

Regina bit her lip. "You're welcome," she replies, grinning. She glances back toward camp. "I suppose we better go back. Snow and Roland will be wondering where we are."

"I was hoping you'd try that out first," he suggests, pointing at the swing, his eyes sparkling.

She follows his gaze and exclaims, "The swing? Me!?"

"Mmhm, you're the only one who's missed out."

She shakes her head, chuckling. "I'm too old to play on swings."

"You're never too old, Regina," responds Robin immediately, letting go of her hand and walking behind the contraption. At her reluctance, he teases, "You're not afraid are you?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" Regina glares at him.

He bites his bottom lip, holding back a smirk. "Indeed, I do." He walks back around comes to stand in front of her. "And she's not nearly as intimidating as she thinks she is."

Regina's hands fly onto her hips. "Is that so?"

'"Mmhmm," Robin closes the distance between them, giving her a light kiss on the lips.

"You think a few well placed kisses are going to change my mind?" she breathes, capturing his lips again in hers. Robin gently places his hand on the small of her back. He teases her lip deliciously with his tongue.

"Oh, you have no idea how persuasive I can be when I set my heart on something," he murmurs, moving to trail kisses down her neck. "Besides, I recall a certain queen telling a thief that she hadn't forgotten about a certain dalliance in the woods."

Robin nibbles at her ear, and Regina gasps. She threads her fingers into his hair, and they're just a little bit late to lunch.

* * *

In a Dank Part of the Weeping

When the first full moon of winter inches its way into the sky, Mortianna hobbles deep into the Weeping. Carrying the Queen's half eaten apple, she prepares a pedestal and small cauldron. Mortianna grinds stinging nettles into a paste and muddles the mashed up leaves with a bit of her own blood, pricked on the thorn of a withered rose. She starts a fire under her cauldron and moves the pedestal so the moon's beams illuminate its surface. The crone boils her ingredients together: the mucous from the skin of a salamander, stinging nettles paste tinged crimson, belladonna seeds, and the heart of a sly, red fox. She requires the help of a creature with the ability to slink in and out of areas unseen, wants its essence for her dream-walking spell.

Fire dying down, Mortianna bottles the potion and walks back into her crumbling hovel. She sits in a chair, dips her finger into the clear, slippery liquid, and rubs it onto her lips, chatting an ancient rhyme.

Go now. Catch a falling star. Travel back where past years are. Through the blackened veil. Seek entrance with the sharp point of a nail. What you seek is in her heart. Know her thoughts through nature's art. As scorching fires ever ready be, through daylight's gate step one, two, three.

* * *

Sherwood Forest

Robin lies awake in bed, staring at his sleeping son beside him. He thinks about how much things have changed and how happier Roland has been now that Regina is in their lives. They've only been apart for a couple hours now, he walked her to her tent, and bid her goodnight, but he misses her already. He tosses and turns for a few more minutes, and when Roland stirs and groggily mumbles, Robin kisses his downy curls and slips out of their tent. He doesn't want to wake his boy with his restlessness.

He steps out into the chilly night air and goes for a walk to think. When he eventually returns to camp, he finds himself instinctively walking in the direction of Regina's tent, wants to check on her before going back to bed in his own tent. Robin notices John, Much and Tuck two fires away, and Much knows exactly where he's heading. Of course he knows. Robin shakes his head, holding back a grin.

"I'll listen for Roland," Much says, waving him on his way.

Robin thanks him and steps lightly to her tent. As he nears, he hears Regina's strained voice, and it stops him in his tracks. He can't quite make out what she's saying, but he knows she's distressed. She cries out, and he steals in through the entrance flap, rushes to her side.

Regina thrashes, twitches, and talks in her sleep, sweating and moaning like she's in pain.

It's dark as she cautiously wanders through the winter palace, passing by locked room after locked room. Familiar columns and metal architecture cold and foreboding as she walks toward a light emanating from a door at the end of the hall. Cobwebs stick to her arms and legs, and she brushes them off. A crackling echoes and resounds off brick and steel, and she whirls around when she feels something touch the back of her neck. There's nothing there.

Her heels clack on the floor a little bit harder, and she finds it odd that she's wearing a pair of black stilettos, even more odd that her stilettos lead her gaze up to sheer nylons, and the sheer nylons lead to the hem of a skin-tight, red, eye-lit dress that stops just below her knee. She's no longer robed in a cloak or tunic and peasant skirt. Passing in front of a foggy mirror, she sees that her hair is short again, falls at her shoulders.

She knows this is her castle, a prison she lived in long ago, but she looks like the mayor of Storybrooke, not the Queen of the Enchanted Forest. She's just about to touch her reflection, when she hears a baby cry. She spins around, and urgently stalks toward the noise. The wailing increases, and she picks up the pace. The shrill cackling is back, reverberates in her ears, pounds at her skull, and the walls start closing in on her with each stride she takes. She gets to her bedroom door, throws it open, and what greets her on the other side horrifies.

A white witch stands before her, eyes rimmed red, teeth crooked and yellowed. The hag digs her nails into Regina's wrist and manically cackles.

"You can't save them all, dearie. Rivers will run red, graves will mount high, tears will fall for the dead, and your love will be for nigh."

She yanks her hand back and steps away from the crone, tripping over something solid. She hits the unforgiving concrete with a thud, and when her eyes drift up, her rich browns connect with cold, dead blues, an arrow piercing through his heart. A high-pitched ringing drills into her eardrums.

"Regina, wake up," Robin whispers, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Regina."

A scream tears from her throat, and she jolts upright; her sudden movement throws him off balance, and he pitches backward. Robin scrambles to his knees in front of Regina and takes her by the arms.

"Regina," he says, but she doesn't respond. She's still half asleep. "Regina, wake up," he speaks in an authoritative tone.

She opens her eyes and gasps. He looks at her, really looks at her – hair wild, strands of it out of place, the sleeve of her nightgown, slipped low over her shoulder, revealing her collarbone and the gentle rise of her right breast. Regina frenziedly runs her hands over his face, touching her thumbs to his cheeks, breathing erratic and loud in the otherwise thick silence hovering inside her tent.

He's alive. Oh, thank God he's alive, she thinks, and then panic seizes her again.

"The baby. Where's the baby?" she demands, looking around frantically. Confused and disoriented, Regina grabs Robin's shirt and tries to catch her bearings.

"What baby, Regina?" Robin asks, tucking a hair that has fallen into her face away behind her ear.

A dream, she realizes, only a dream. For a moment, she fights to control her emotions, but the relief she feels knowing what she saw isn't real pulls a sob past her lips. Robin is completely unprepared when she flings herself at him, weeping against his chest. She clings to his neck with such vigor that it hurt.

At a loss for words, he holds her tightly and waits for her to tell him what has upset her so, rubs her back soothingly, wonders what terrifies her so, wishes he knew how to help.

What is causing her such fear? What baby is she talking about?

She struggles for composure.

"Regina, it's okay," he whispers.

"I know but–" she replies hoarsely. "It felt so real, Robin." She loosens her grip on his neck.

They're both silent for a while, but he makes no move to release her, just hugs her more caringly.

"Tell me about it," he suggests cautiously.

Regina draws back to look at him, and then rests her head on his shoulder. Robin pulls her into his arms and lays them back into the furs. She tells him about the castle, the cackling, and how she couldn't find where the crying was coming from. She doesn't tell him about what she discovered on the other side of the door, doesn't tell him about the growing pool of blood that she slipped in while staring into the eyes of a corpse, but he knows whatever's left unsaid must be bad, because when she starts thinking about it, her lip begins trembling again, and she fists her hand in his tunic.

"It felt so real, so vivid, even though it seems really farfetched now. I mean, I was dressed in my old clothes. That should've been my first clue."

"What do you think it means?" he asks, threading his fingers through her hair.

Robin wants to ask about the infant, wants to know more about the voice that seemed to mock her, wants to know what had her screaming out of bed, and so many other questions. Regina plays with the tie on his shirt, while he listens meticulously. With how disturbing her dream sounds, he has no interest in leaving her to face her terror alone.

"So, are we staying here, or are you coming back to my tent to sleep with Roland and me?" he inquires, making an effort to sound matter of fact.

His question echoes something she was already thinking but was afraid to ask.

"Can you bring Roland here?" she questions.

"Yes."

"Okay, then I'd like you to stay," she sniffs, and he can't refuse the slight hitch in her voice.

Little does either of them know that on the other side of Sherwood Forest, Mortianna also awakes with a gasp and sneers before traveling back to Nottingham's fortress. She has much she needs to tell him, first and foremost being the Evil Queen's role in turning the tide in the coming war. Blood will be shed, and her future child will be the key to the throne. They need to plot quickly.

* * *

Exactly six weeks pass before Regina feels fully recovered from her near drowning, skin and ribs healed, no bruising, no tenderness remain. Tomorrow their company plans to commence their journey to the winter palace, and the thought sends shivers down Regina's spine, her dream or premonition still heavy on her heart.

Washing up after supper, Robin notices her quiet demeanor and leads her around the fire in front of his tent, easing them down to the ground. He draws her between his legs, leaning her back against his chest. It's an intimate position, feeling his thighs lightly touch either side of her hips. Frostiness settles into her bones from the crisp air, but the overwhelming warmth of his arms wins out against the cold. Slowly, she relaxes and reclines against him. He wraps his arms around her and sighs, both of them entranced by sizzling embers and crackling flames.

Robin turns his face into her hair, inhaling and placing a kiss on her temple. Regina closes her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest, lulls her into peacefulness, the stress of a white witch and healing ribs forgotten. Robin threads his fingers with hers and hugs his free arm around her stomach, keeping her close to him. She feels the edge of his hand brush against the underside of her breast, but doesn't pull away. Her body tingles in anticipation.

After a while she shifts, her tailbone aching from sitting on the hard ground. She doesn't want to go to sleep, not yet, and settles more comfortably into his arms. Robin's voice hitches as she scoots back, and she freezes when she realizes why, can feel it – him – against her back, and she bites her lip.

Sensing her tension, Robin tightens his arms around her waist more fully, holding her close.

"You can stay with me tonight, you know. I'm more than sure they have us figured out by now," he begins, trailing a line of kisses down her neck, making it hard for her to think clearly. Since the river, he's spent most nights with her, it's never gone any farther than heavy petting and heated making out, because she hadn't let it, wasn't ready for anything more, because she knows that once she opens that door, it'll be nearly impossible to close. Robin isn't just some roll in the hay, or dalliance in the woods, and she knows that, knows she's been falling for him over the last month, knows he's been chipping away at her walls, and stealing her heart like the talented thief that he is. And so she wants to wait, wants to be sure that she's ready for him and for her, not willing to screw this up, and still a little bit afraid of getting her heart broken in the process.

"I know," she whispers into the fire as he rests his cheek against her hair.

"Tell me what is troubling you." He keeps hold of her, voice low. His lips close around her earlobe, and she moans softly in response, biting back a gasp of surprise.

Thank God they're alone by the fire.

Robin takes her hands in his, crossing both of their arms in her lap. "You know I lo–"

"Don't Robin," she stops him, turning around to place a finger against his lips. "Not yet, please."

Regina knows she feels for him very deeply, has for weeks now, but she isn't ready to give voice to those feelings, not when her past and endless misgivings always seem to thwart her happiness. Robin sighs and gives her a sad smile.

She moves so she's kneeling in front of him, brings her face to his to seal his mouth to hers, hoping to distract him from a conversation she's not ready to have. Not yet anyway. For a long moment, nothing but the soft brush of lips and warm pants of breath fill the air.

Robin breaks the kiss, eyes dark blue in the firelight. "Tell me what you're afraid of."

Looking back at the fire, Regina sighs. Maybe now is the right time for this conversation. She knows that once the words come, she won't be able to say them while looking at him. "My first love, Daniel, was killed because of me. Because he loved me. It's just that…" her voice trails off.

"That what?" Robin prompts. When she doesn't answer, he nudges her knee gently. "That what?"

Her answer comes in a rush of breath, heart beating fast, words jumbling together. "Every time I've come close to being happy, Robin, something happens. Daniel was killed because of me, because he loved me. Henry was lost to me, and I couldn't bare it if I lost you, too. Or Roland," she says, trying to break free from his embrace, but he won't let her.

"That's why you never opened up again? Because you were afraid of being hurt? Regina," he soothes when she nods, and just the way he says her name calms her and makes her heart slow its chaotic pace. He lifts their joined hands and kisses her knuckles sweetly. "Nothing will to happen to me. Or to us."

"You don't know that," she retorts.

"No, I suppose I don't," Robin says slowly. "But Regina, if we let fear hold us back, we might put our lives off for something that may never come to pass," he continues. "What would help put your mind at ease?"

"Nothing can, Robin," she huffs out a pent up breath caused by anger. "Nothing ever will. Villains don't get happy endings."

"Regina," his fingers interlocked with hers as his arms turned her to face him. "You are not a villain. Not anymore, and even then I'm not quite convinced you ever were. Yes, you did some terrible things, but a truly terrible person isn't remorseful the way you are."

Robin continues to hold her after that, rocks her in his arms a bit, hums softly in her ear. The first is practically smothered by a lack of kindle, when Regina begins kissing him. He squeezes her tenderly, and molds his lips to hers, for the moment losing himself in her entrancing femininity.

"We have a camp full of drunken idiots," she reminds him once their lips part, "Remember?"

"Most of which are passed out by now," Robin confirms, grinning, then bestowing soft, hot kisses from her neck to the tip of her shoulder through her garment's thin material. "And Roland is with Celia…" Regina melts submissively against him. Her instinctive reaction foretells her body's willingness, reacting quickly to temptation. Regina's need to feel closer to him now more than ever increases with lightning speed. He nuzzles her ear again, and then licks a long line up her neck; hands increase the intensity of his caresses, attempting to massage her worries away.

"Besides," he says in a slightly huskier tone, "It's cold out tonight, and I'd hate for you to get a chill in that small tent you insist on sleeping in."

"My small tent is very cozy, I'll have you–"

Robin didn't wait for her to finish as eagerly targeted her lips. It was time to put her insecurities away for a while. Unending, fiery kisses heat their bodies, building the passion sparking between them. Regina's hands mimic Robin's, traveling possessively over his torso, seeking, learning, fondling, and kissing deeply with barely restrained passion.

Their mouths met in a glorious sensual dance; it stirs Regina from her head to her toes. Her senses come alive, acknowledging his scent – a dangerous combination of the forest around them and him. Her awareness of every inch of his muscle-toned body slams her with an intensified, deeper into the fervent feelings threatening to overpower her.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifts his position to hover over her, only this time, his knee gradually work its way between hers. Robin gently reclaims her inviting lips, Regina's body arches as he gently pressures himself against her lower half, enticing the core of her to welcome his presence. Accompanying the molten, liquid heat swiftly gathering low in her belly, an emotional tension surges.

"Robin, promise me you'll never leave," she pleads breathlessly, her hands cupping his face between them.

"I promise," he vows, his eyes never leaving hers. Robin combs his fingers lovingly through her hair in an attempt to calm. "These fears are natural, Regina. Fear is with us always. Fear is like a constant companion, always there, but that's okay, because fear can bring people together, fear can bring you home. Fear makes companions of us all," he assures her. "And I promise, I'll never let you go."

Their eyes darken with ardent emotion, and he brushes a stray tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"I'm ready for bed now," her breath whispers in his ear.

* * *

The very next morning, a bright winter sun rises over the mountains, burning off the fine mist hovering above the ground. The semi darkness, the nip in the air, and their warm bodies spooning together create the perfect environment for Regina and Robin to continue their peaceful repose.

Regina's mind lingers somewhere near consciousness and limbo, traces of memory race through her mind at dizzying speeds – hands moving, caressing, groping, pulling pleasure out of lover's mouths through feather like touches and the dry humping of hips. Fingers feeling their way along unknown territories, exploring for the first time places that begged to be known. Lips kissing, consuming, devouring familiar and unfamiliar places. A sensitive spot along the column of Regina's neck, and a hotspot behind Robin's ear. Each time his lips touched her skin, they elicited a pleasure she had never known before, and all that while they were still wearing their clothes.

Slowly, Regina begins to rouse from her peaceful slumber, though she fights against this waking, choosing instead to revel in the warm chest behind her. One arm wraps around her, holding her to him, and the other under her neck. She wonders if his arm has fallen asleep from her laying on it, but he doesn't seem bothered. Regina feels the rise and fall of his chest and knows he's still sleeping deeply.

Light creeps ever so slowly into the tent as daybreak inches further along. Rays hit her just so that she cannot seem to fall back asleep, while it glares in her eyes. She starts to shift in Robin's warm arms, when she stops suddenly. A bit of black ink visible just under the cuff of his sleeve. Curious, she gently slides the fabric back and as more and more ink reveals, her eyes widen in shock. Her past flashes before her eyes, and her vision darts over the offending mark on Robin's skin.

Regina scrambles out of bed as quickly as she can without waking the archer, Tinkerbell's words echoing in her head.

Did you ever go back to find him? That's so selfish. You didn't just ruin your life. You ruined his.

She throws the tent flap open and runs. Away from Robin. Away from fate. And most importantly away from the man with the lion tattoo.

* * *

Disclaimer: not mine


	8. Chapter 8

AN: This story is rated M for a reason. XOXO, Jess

EDIT: Thank you so much to the guest reviewer who pointed out a couple inconsistencies in this chapter with the last one! That's what I get for posting at 3 a.m. It's all fixed now! I love constructive criticism, and you helped me make this chapter better! Thanks!

* * *

Sisters and Soul Mates

_The Night Before Regina Ran from the Tent_

Not long after they leave the comfort of the campfire and slowly burning embers, Robin and Regina duck into his tent. They're tentative at first, a little bit nervous around the other, because they know what's coming next. They've been building toward it for weeks, and yet they've silently agreed to not push each other too far, past boundaries they're not quite ready to cross, or more importantly past lines Regina isn't quite ready to cross.

She tells him she is, wants him, needs him, is already wet for him when they move from just inside his tent to the cushion of furs and solid ground beneath them, Robin propped up on his forearms above her, one leg between her thighs, the friction of their clothes grinding teasingly against where their bodies really want to connect.

But he knows the gravity and haunting truths sex carries for her – a twisted power play, and, in darker forms, a tool for punishment, for commanding obedience, for breaking her strong will. He knows about Leopold, knows about that first night he stole into her bedchamber for her to perform her duties as his wife – the Child Bride, barely ten and eight years of age, just days after she watched her fiancé get his heart ripped out. And he knows about all the times thereafter that the king laid with her, tries not to think about the innocent doe-eyed expression he notes on her face every once in a while she's playing with Roland, the comment that slipped off Snow's tongue one day, recalling a younger version of Regina that saved her life, so full of hope and joy. He imagines that was all taken from her the day a crown was forced upon her head. It makes his blood boil and his stomach churn, because he knows that she didn't choose that path for herself, not at first anyways – manipulated by a mentor and a mother and a king who all wielded their power over a young girl's head, threatened her freedom and those she loved and her body until she had no choice but to follow. He knows that each of them left her after they took what they wanted, using her as a means to satisfy and feed a lust-filled hunger, a conquest of sorts. And he won't have her thinking that's what this is, because it's not, far from it.

Tonight, instead of sheathing himself inside her like he really wants, he'll show her just how much this is about them, her and him, together by pouring love (even if Regina isn't ready to call what they have love) into her.

Robin breaks his mouth away from hers and brushes her hair away from her face, staring longingly into her eyes.

"What?" she asks, lips plump and red from where he was just tugging at her skin. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You truly have no idea how stunning you are? Do you?" he husks into the air between them, leaning in again to capture her lips, crushing his mouth to hers. She blushes and tries to turn her head away from him to hide the rosiness appearing on her cheeks, but he caresses her jaw line and pulls her gaze back to meet his.

A devious smirk appears on her face, and Regina presses their sexes together, rubs at the hardness forming beneath layers of clothing.

"You're not playing fair, milady," he says with a sharp intake of breath.

"I'm not trying to play fair," she responds, grinding her hips back up against his, eliciting a groan from his lips. The sound vibrates into her mouth as their tongues come back together.

Robin slips his hand beneath the laces at the front of her dress and kneads her breast. Regina mews approvingly. They're nothing but breathy panting, and dry humping hips, and moaning for multiple minutes, snogging and making out, and creating a friction between them that begs to be paid more attention.

"I promised you–" Robin takes a labored gasp. "That when we did this– when I finally filled you–" he kisses her passionately, runs his tongue along her bottom lip. "When I finally made love to you–" he claims her mouth again and trails kisses to the soft space behind her ear. "It wouldn't just be about sex, Regina. I want to show you how much you mean to me."

Robin lathes his tongue up her neck, and he sucks on Regina's earlobe and then focuses his attention down, down, down, hiking up her skirt, and pulling aside her smallclothes. He pauses for a moment, looks up into her eyes for permission, and she ardently nods. He focuses his attention back on her folds, swipes one finger from top to bottom, receiving a slight buck from Regina at the new sensation. He grins and makes her lay all the way back down, presses one hand low on her belly, nudges his nose against her clit, and breathes her in before slowly flicking his tongue over her clit. She gasps, and he keeps moving his mouth against her, swirling, and suckling, and gently grazing his teeth over sensitive flesh, asking her all the while if this is okay, is this alright, may he touch her, may he taste her? and it is more than okay, more than alright. Regina urges him on as he slips a finger inside her exploringly, growls low when she responds in kind, his face blocked from her view, head buried beneath heavy fabric between her spread legs, pads of her feet anchored down, knees bent, and held apart by his shoulders.

It has been a long time since someone has done this to her, fucked her with their fingers and rubbed the swollen bud, pulsating between her legs the way that Robin is now. She can't remember when anyone cared to pay so much attention to making her squirm and feel and undulate beneath loving touches. Because that's what this is right? That's what he's trying to show her? That he loves her? That he cares for her? Robin's affection and another vigorous, electric suck on her clit bring tears to her eyes, and she whimpers. He inserts a second finger and starts a rhythm that pools fire in her belly, nips at the inside of her thigh and places open-mouthed kisses across her skin until he exchanges his thumb with his tongue, begins to suckle and lap and lick, drawing a sharp inhaled gasp from her throat as he turns his palm up and massages that spot inside her that makes her back arch off the pile of furs and blankets.

"Oh God–" she moans, panting and writhing in time with his ministrations. "Just there– don't stop–" she has a hard time remembering to breathe, all thoughts consumed by him and the current he sends shooting through her body as he pulls out, fingers slick, covered in her, and adds a third, stretching her, rotating his wrist, thrusting in and up, and in just the right spot, again, and again, and again.

She starts whimpering incessantly now and fists her hands in the furs, her hips bucking in response to the deliciously appreciated girth, the new pressure building to break and crash, and burn her up. She orgasms with a strangled cry, shouts I love you in her head, muscles clenching around his skilled fingers, and he greedily continues to eat her out, until she forcefully stills his hand when it becomes too much and pulls his head up to meet hers, tastes herself on his lips.

Everything is frenzied after that, they pant into each other, share hot mingling breaths, and she fumbles with his belt and yanks down his trousers until he is free, hard and throbbing, and achingly erect.

"Regina–" he tries. "Wait, this is about–" But he can't get the rest out, words catch in his throat as she slides her hand around him and pumps languidly, strokes up and down.

"This is about us," she breathes into his ear as he presses his forehead to hers and groans. "That's what you said–" she exhales and cups his balls. "So now, it's my turn to show you at least a little bit of how much you mean to me, too."

Robin shivers when she rubs beading cum off the tip of his penis with her thumb, hiding how much she arouses him proves difficult.

"You're not–" his breath hitches, "making this easy, Regina."

"On the contrary, I think this is quite easy. Don't you?" She grins, swallowing his groans and grunts with searing kiss after searing kiss.

Robin doesn't last long, hips sporadically jolting forward into her firm grip around him, already worked up from feasting and listening to her moan and gasp because of him. He comes in Regina's hand with a guttural sound that rips from deep within his chest, cries her name, and says I love you in his head, after a few more fast, rough strokes and sloppy kisses, collapses on top of her, and it takes them a while to calm down, for their heart rates to return to normal, their flushed skin to cool. Minutes tick by, and he rolls over, lifts his hips off the floor, and pulls up his pants, fastening his belt, and then he surprises her by pulling her to him in the dark, grabs one of his old tunics and helps her clean his stickiness off her palm and out from between her fingers. He casts the shirt away from them, and tightens his embrace around her. They fall asleep like that, with his arm wrapped behind her back, her head buried in the crook of his shoulder, both still clothed and sweatier and more sated than before, the room filled only by their quiet breathing. When exhaustion takes her, she can still feel her pulse beating in her core.

* * *

In the morning, Regina wakes up, smelling like sex, feeling safe, and happy in Robin's arms, a pleased smile on her face. She slowly begins to rouse, angles her face toward the sun's rays streaming in through Robin's tent, revels in the warmness of his chest against her back, one arm wraps around her, holding her to him, and the other under her neck. She wonders if his arm has fallen asleep from her laying on it, but he doesn't seem bothered. She feels the rise and fall of his chest and knows he's still sleeping deeply. She shifts to move deeper in his embrace, and he moves with her, his sleeve inching up to reveal a bit of black ink. She brushes her thumb along the edge of it, the corner shimmers, faintly green like dust, her brow furrows, that was clearly magic, it reminds her of something she's seen before but can't quite place her finger on, so she pushes the cuff back to get a better look and reveals the full hidden mark, curiosity getting the best of her, and that's when she freezes, when her eyes lock in on the clear outlines of a crest. She begins to panic, needs to get out of the room before the walls close in on her, memories from the past flashing through her mind.

Pixie dust. The green was pixie dust.

Regina eases out of Robin's arms, careful not to wake him, feet unsteady as she stands, half from the throbbing she still feels between her legs, half from the fact that her apparent soul mate has been right in front of her, wooing her, charming her, annoying her, saving her from herself this whole time. She gasps as the brisk morning air hits her lungs, no time to adjust or get warm or slowly wake up and acclimate from the coziness of the tent to the chilly winter bite. She pauses just outside, let's the flap close behind her, inhales and exhales deeply, trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating. She feels like a deer caught in a hunter's gaze, very unlike her usual self, very unlike the moniker and predator she's known across the realms as, her reputation falling short at the moment. Her clothes are wrinkled from last night's activities, hair wild and out of place from heavy panting, and petting, and Robin pulling cries from her throat as he went down on her in their spell-cast tent, no cry of pleasure or moan of approval heard passed canvas walls.

Regina chokes out a sob, realization vacuuming all the oxygen out of the air. Never going into that tavern led her down the path to becoming the Evil Queen, a villain who murdered countless, faceless victims, and in the process of seeking her revenge she abandoned the possibility of a happy ending. And worse, this path she took led Robin down a new one as well, diverged from fate to fall in love with a woman who would bare him a son only to die shortly thereafter. A son who then never knew his mother. All of them have experienced heartache and loss and tragedy, and Regina can't help but feel partly responsible. She could have been happy. They could have been happy. Roland could have been hers. Before, when thinking about the decisions she made in the past, she always clung to the fact that it all brought her Henry, it all brought her a beautiful, little prince, but now – now – now she doesn't even have him. Her son is gone, lost to her forever, memories wiped clean.

The heart in her chest races, pounds against bone and tissue, pumps blood more quickly throughout her body, adrenaline releases, and she feels the urge to run again, to whip through trees and disappear from sight, find a place of solitude where she can tremble and shake alone, without worrying about the concerned or fearful gazes of others. Regina's hands are out in front of her, palms facing the ground, a slight tremor overtakes her fingers, and she closes her eyes, trying to pull herself together, but it's not working. She needs to get out of here. She takes one hesitant step forward and then moves, making her way past a group of people gathered around the fire pit, drinking warm beverages and talking in hushed tones. She hears her name being called, but she doesn't stop.

Not until she's alone, until she can let the tears fall freely, until she can scream out into the open, and rip her hair out at ruining her own chances at happiness once again.

Regina collapses in a heap on the riverbank, seems to be the place she gravitates toward most now, a tranquil place to think. She cups water into her hands and splashes it on her face, drying off with the edge of her dress skirt.

A young, desperately lonely queen, fairies and pixie dust, Robin's arms around her, second chances and destiny, Roland's dimpled cheeks, soul mates and faith, you didn't just ruin your life, you ruined his, her Henry's joyous laughter and the way he called her momma, taverns and the man with the lion tattoo, a life before anger and dark magic tainted her heart black.

"Regina!" an annoying voice chirps behind her, light footfalls and swishing of fabric shuffle undergrowth, alerting her to Snow's approach. "What are you doing? I called you, and you just kept going."

Regina's nails dig deep into her palm. Her jaw clenches, she whips her head around, hair fanning out and bites, "Why are you always following me?"

Snow tilts her head to the side and looks at the woman on the ground. "Because you're always running away," she posits sadly.

"Because I'm always getting hurt!" she shouts back and moves to stand.

Snow smiles and knowingly asks, "What happened?" The princess isn't blind, has watched Regina slowly bond with the archer and his son, timidly at first and then quickly, hard to not fall for dimples and persistent friendship and attentiveness. Their encounters first filled with smartass remarks and sassy quips, fiery tempers and witty insults, but Snow knows Regina is attached to Robin and Roland, knows that there's a part of her that wants to let herself love them openly even if she can't admit it internally or to anyone else.

Although, maybe they have, maybe she did, maybe Robin climbed a barricade when no one else could. The tension between them really appeared to change after Regina risked her life to save Roland's. Robin never left her side, stayed near her tent every night until she was well again, checking on her during the day, bringing her tea, and new clothes, and flowers, and biscuits and milk.

"If I wanted to share with you and partake in girl talk, I would have come to you. But I didn't, I came here. For peace and quiet. Is that really so hard for you to grasp?" Regina scoffs. "I don't want your help, Snow."

"Then what do you want?" she persists. "Do you want me to get Granny? Or David? Or better yet Robin? Because I'm not leaving here until you talk to someone."

"Why is it so important to you that I talk to anyone?"

"Because when you don't talk to someone, you let things fester. And I'm not going to let you do that this time. Not after you've come so far."

"Pfft, and what do you care about how far I've come?"

"Regina, we all care. Not because we're afraid of the Evil Queen or what you might do to us. We're well past that by now. We care about you, what happens to you. I care, David cares, Granny cares, Whale – even when he's a drunken fool – cares, Belle and Ruby," the princess argues. "But I think that most importantly, Robin and a very cute little boy care about what happens to you."

She snaps her head up at that, glares daggers at Snow. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," she replies harshly.

"Are you out here because of them? Did something happen?"

"No."

"Something did, didn't it?"

"No."

"Well, now I know you're lying."

"Really? And how do you presume to know that?"

"Because you didn't have some snarky remark ready, you just replied no."

Regina balks and turns away from her, and Snow studies her shoulders as they rise and fall with each exaggerated breath. She knows this can't be easy for Regina, being separated from Henry, and traveling with a band of people that for all intents and purposes used to wish her dead or imprisoned, even Snow can't believe how far they've come every so often. But she doesn't want her to give up, doesn't want her to close herself off again.

"Regina, I've seen what life has thrown at you. And you still fight against the darkness every single day," she says, continuing gently, hoping she's on the right track, hoping she's read Regina's body language right, hoping her instincts are correct and this is about Robin. "That's what it means to be the most resilient. And sooner or later, if you let it, your heart will find its way to happiness."

"No, I ruined my chance at a happy ending a long time ago," Regina whispers, so softly that Snow almost misses her response. "And I ruined his."

"Robin's?" she shakes her head and walks over to Regina, places her hand on her shoulder and makes her look at her. "What are you talking about?"

And in a rare moment, Snow sees something in Regina crack. She lowers them both to the ground and holds her hands. Regina furrows her brow and flinches, but she doesn't pull away. They sit there in the dirt until the sun is high above them, everyone surely up and at'em back at camp, getting ready for lunch. Tears glisten in Regina's eyes, and she licks her lips and swallows saliva pooling in her mouth, tells Snow about Tinkerbell, and the tavern, and the man with the lion tattoo, and then confesses what she discovered upon waking.

"It was Robin? After all this time, and you still ran?"

"It's not that simple," Regina retorts.

"I think it is. Why does the tattoo have you so freaked out? Shouldn't that make you happier, you've found your soul mate. The two of you were fine before. I know you slept in his tent last night and have been more regularly," she pauses when Regina glares at her indignantly. "No, I'm not inferring anything by that. I just meant that you both spend an awful lot of time together, and Regina, you were positively smitten yesterday. What are you afraid of?"

"Everything!" she bellows, throwing her hands up into the air. "Snow, it's real now. It's not just puppy love or a crush or– what if something happens? What if he or Roland gets hurt? It doesn't matter what I do, I'm always the villain in someone else's eyes, even when I'm not, there are plenty of people out there who want to hurt me. What if they do something to one of them to get to me? I couldn't live with that."

"But, Regina, I've seen the way he looks at you. And I know you, and you feel things deeply, you feel things with your whole soul. You can't just walk away from that, not after finding him again after all this time. You wanted a second chance, well, you have it. He's right there. He's back at camp, and I'm fairly certain he loves you. Don't let anything hold you back. Trust your instincts. What is your heart telling you to do, not your head?"

"I–" but Regina doesn't have time to finish, her attention grabbed by a black plume rising thickly above the tree tops in the distance. Snow follows her gaze and looks over her shoulder.

"Regina, what is that?" she asks, and they both stand up.

"I don't know," she responds and steps past her, looking at the billowing

smoke. Regina senses something, a feeling in the pit of her stomach that settles in deep. Something is terribly wrong. They need to get back. "Snow, we need to–" her words are cut off when a searing pain rips through her arm. She cries out and clutches at her burning skin, rolls up her sleeve and sees crimson rivers flowing out of a gash from the crook of her elbow to just above her wrist, missing precious arteries. She applies pressure and covers it with her hand, blood seeping out between her fingers.

"Oh my God, Regina!" Snow grabs her arm to inspect it, but when Regina takes her hand away, there's nothing there. It aches, but there's nothing there. "Wait– what–"

They both look up and stare at each other in confusion, and then Regina whispers, "Robin." Her eyes dart toward the smoke and into the trees. "Snow, we need to get back. Something is wrong."

Regina doesn't know how, but she knows Robin is injured, that gash is his.

* * *

Regina and Snow dash into camp to a sea of sweaty faces and chaos. There are trees on fire, arrows flying toward screeching simian beasts, men shouting, and women screaming. Smoke burns their lungs, and the once Evil Queen and her former enemy are forced to defend each other immediately – no time to think about any other option. Each easily arms with their weapon of choice – Snow, the bow at her back, and Regina, fireballs that instinctively form in her palm.

It's not pleasant, the smell of singed monkey hair and searing flesh, but Regina never hesitates, keeps moving and spinning around as winged creatures attack them from above. Between hitting her marks and catching glimpses of Snow notching more and more arrows, she frantically searches for Roland and Robin. Her eardrums are pierced by sharp high-pitched yells and grotesque growls. Another beast flies in behind her unnoticed and violently squalls; she whirls around, the distance between her and its bacteria ridden fangs much too close for her liking. Claws reach out for her, she has her hand up, fire at the ready, about to throw it forward, when an arrow with a familiar white fletching and stripped notch buries deep in the vermin's side.

"Regina!" Much exclaims, notching another arrow, taking out another winged beast.

"Much, where is he?" She asks desperately over the roaring sound of flames consuming canvas and pine and anything else that it touches. Regina trips over the hem of her skirt as she stumbles closer to the small man.

"The Wicked Witch! She's here. Last I saw, he and Prince David were trying to get the upper hand. Regina, they need help!"

She nods, and they keep fighting, back to back, covering each other. Much is one of the few Merry Men who accepted her into their company without qualm. Robin trusted her, so Much trusted her, as easy as that, loyalty to a degree she had never seen, even during her reign as Queen.

"Where's Roland?!" she yells as they both run and skid to a halt before a falling tree can crush them. Timber splinters apart and embers fly, wracking their lungs in a coughing fit as ash and dust kick up and out like an atomic wave.

"Granny has him!"

Thank God, Regina knows the old woman will keep him safe. They move again, weave in and out of the path of fire as it desolates this part of Sherwood Forest.

"Regina! Can't you stop this?! Don't you know some spell or enchantment? The smoke is getting too thick!" Much pulls the collar of his shirt up to cover his mouth, wheezing and coughing and trying to catch his breath.

He's right. She knows he's right. They can't keep running through this, and she can't let the fire burn everything, already the blaze is reaching a point where it will soon be uncontainable. She nods and thinks back to a time when Rumple taught her how to call on weather.

Much watches her as she stretches her hands out, mumbling words under her breath, words he can't make out, words that sound foreign and ancient on the Queen's tongue, purple wisps appear on her fingertips, magic crackling through the atmosphere. The sky rolls above them and darkens to a stormy grey, wind flickers flame and whips Regina's hair about her face. Another monkey flies in from the left and drives toward Regina. Much pulls back the string of his bow and shoots it down before it can reach her. She closes her eyes and concentrates harder, listens as three more arrow fly one right after the other. A dampness settles in the air, wet droplets start falling, pitter pattering on the ground, on their faces, sizzling embers and cleaning dirt off their skin, and the heavens open up and it pours, drenching them, soaking them to the bone, but the fire dies and water mixes with ash, and dirt, and relieved tears, the heat at the necks abating.

It doesn't take Regina long to find Robin after that, rain beating down for a few more minutes before she mumbles the other have of the spell. She and Much run into the clearing, the focal point of their encampment, and he's there, just as soaked as they are, but there's blood staining through the sleeve of his white, linen shirt, running down his arm in streams and dripping off his fingertips.

"Robin!" Regina shouts, picking up her pace and stumbling over a root to get to him. Water trails through grim and black ash on his face, he looks tired and ready to drop. He meets her eyes, wipes his brow off with his uninjured arm, and makes his way toward her when to her horror, he disappears in a cloud of green smoke.

An amused cackle cuts through the air behind her, and Regina whirls around. Robin appears next to a woman dressed in a black garment that Regina recognizes as her own. He's choking on nothing, hands prying at an invisible grip, his toes barely kicking at the forest floor.

Green skin, fiery red hair, flying monkeys, a broom grasped in the woman's hand. Regina doesn't need anymore proof that the person standing in front of her is the Wicked Witch.

"Wonderful little show you put on there, snuffing out all my fires. Did you not like my welcoming gift?" The woman smiled with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You weren't even going to come to the castle and say hello first, were you? It's not exactly the return home I was expecting, Regina. What does a witch have to do to get your attention?" She asks, knowing she already has Regina on edge.

"I tend not to pay attention to people I don't care about," Regina responds, and then clenches her fists when the grip on Robin's neck tightens. He struggles against the force suffocating him, can't breath, his fingers try to pry off the magical bind constricting his airway. She winces and takes a step toward them.

"Ah, ah, ah," she waves her finger back and forth and tilts her head to the side. "What's the matter? Has the Queen gone and fallen for a common thief? Oh dear, what would Cora say?" She scolds her mockingly.

Regina's gaze doesn't leave the Wicked Witch, doesn't flinch or put words to what Robin means to her, doesn't pretend he's nothing, or that he didn't pull smiles and laughter and love out of her before she saw the mark on his arm. After being back in this cursed land for over a month now, he and his dimple-cheeked son without much effort broke through to her heart, it would be wrong to deny what they've become to her, anchors and tethers, keeping her alive, giving her hope, and a reason to live. So she won't, but she won't give this person, literally holding her soul mates life in their hands, more fuel for their fire either. Instead, Regina ignores the witch's question and asks one of her own.

"What would you know about my mother?" she scoffs and straightens to full height.

The green-skinned woman narrows her eyes at her, the hold on Robin eases, and he is able to breathe easier, but she does not release him from her magical hold. The witch walks closer to Regina. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

"I know exactly who you are," Regina spits, as they both size the other up. "The Wicked Witch."

"Is that all?" She almost pouts.

Regina's attention shifts back to Robin, still hanging in the air, his eyes on hers. She reluctantly pulls her focus away from him. "I'm not that interested. Now, if it's a fight with me you want fine, but release him."

"Oh dearie, not when I still need your attention," she cackles and smirks. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Zelena."

"Fine, Zelena. Now release him."

"Oh, I don't know, I think I just might keep this one for myself. I could always use another beautiful pet," she replies, with a nod to the sky where monkeys soar above and perch in the branches. She gives Regina a small calculating grin. "Don't you think?

"I think you should've used a better face mask, because whatever you're using now isn't working."

Zelena grinds her teeth together and purses her lips. "Well, that wasn't very nice, dearie. You can have your little thief back, if you want him so badly. I was just having a look around. Besides, I've already seen everything worth seeing. Your castle, your gardens, your wardrobe. Oh, and Cora's crypt." She turns and appears magically in a puff of green smoke next to Robin.

"Yes, how did you break the blood lock?"

"I didn't."

"That's not possible, no one's that powerful," Regina shakes her head, taking a few steps to the right to circle around Zelena so she can get closer to Robin. Much and Little John are twenty paces behind the witch with a few of the other Merry Men. Snow and David are flanked to Regina's right, more people gathering nearer with each passing second.

"Cora really never told you," Zelena says.

"Told me what?"

"The truth about us, Regina."

Regina chuckles, "What are you talking about? And, how do you know my mother?"

"Same way you do." Zelena walks up to Regina, and she holds her ground. Leaning toward her, a breath away, she tells her, "I'm your sister."

Regina is taken aback. Of all the things she was expecting that was not one of them.

Zelena's revelation has the desired effect on Regina, and she saunters back toward the thief still struggling against her magical hold. She shrugs and grins. "Actually, half-sister. But, details, details."

"That's not possible," Regina counters. "You're green."

"And you're rude. Cora had me first. Before she found her way into the dregs of royalty. Well, you know I'm telling the truth. How else could I have broken the door to the crypt? Our mother gave me up and sent me away. But you, you she kept. You she gave everything."

"Everything she wanted," Regina corrects. "If what you're saying is true, then you were lucky to escape her."

"You really don't appreciate what you have, do you? You see, I strive for things. I work. You," Zelena looks around her and scoffs. "You cast a curse that was just a fancy form of running away. With every advantage, you still turn your back on every opportunity for happiness. You, Regina— you just don't take risks; you don't live your life. It's such a waste."

At that remark, Regina does flinch. "You have no idea what I've been through."

Zelena rolls her eyes. "Enough of the martyr complex, Regina. Try growing up without a mother. Try living in Oz, knowing that no one thought you were good enough. Not your mother. And not the only man that our paths both crossed. Rumplestiltskin."

Regina's face lights with realization. Finally, this was getting somewhere. "You knew Rumplestiltskin?"

"Did you think you were his only student?"

"Let me guess. You're mad, because he chose me to cast his curse. Well, get over it. It wasn't everything it was cracked up to be."

Much and John inch their way closer to Robin, and two monkeys screech at their approach so the Merry Men back off.

"Anything would have been better than the life I had," Zelena argues. "But, despite my shortcomings, I made something of myself, dear. And I didn't need Cora. Or Rumplestiltskin."

"It's too bad they're not around to see how well you've turned out. They're both dead."

That seems to shock Zelena, something she hadn't apparently learned during all her time spent spying.

"That's alright. You're the only one I need alive."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Because I'm going to take everything away from you."

That wouldn't have felt as threatening before, but now it is with people she cares about sprouting up all over the places like weeds in her front yard.

"So, what? Are going to kill me?" She could only hope, anything else and a number of people were bound to get hurt.

"No, that would be too easy," Zelena says. "For me to get what I want I need you to suffer. You see, what's in store for me is all my dreams being realized. But for you– well, it's a fate worse than death," she sneers, disappears in a cloud of green, and whispers into Regina's ear, "Besides, why would I want to kill you, when I know just how to hurt you." Zelena tightens her hand into a fist and squeezes, Robin gasps, oxygen leaving his airway, Regina shouts for her to stop, and Zelena knows she's won. "Better enjoy your soulmate while you can, Sis," she whispers so no one else can hear. And with that Zelena sneers and flies into the sky, her minions trailing after her, as soon as she's gone Robin slumps to the floor, gasping for breath.

Regina rushes toward him, falls down on her knees, and grasps at his face, pulling his chin into her hand so she can look at him, runs her eyes over cuts and forming bruises. Mud and water seep into her clothes, but she doesn't care, only cares about him.

He takes in shaky, raspy breaths and says her name. It's quiet and broken, but his lovely, accented voice warms her heart and brings tears to her eyes. She inspects the gash on his arm, but he says, "I'm fine. No worse for wear," and she vehemently disagrees, uses magic to clean out the cut and bind it shut until Doc can look at it. She puts her hand behind his neck and pulls his lips to meet hers, kissing him urgently, forgetting for a moment that they're not alone, there are people around, staring awe-struck people with their mouths hanging open, staring pleased-with-themselves people with grins on their faces.

Robin deepens the kiss, grips firmly to her arms, and presses her to him. He threads his fingers through her wet, tangled hair and groans pleasantly into her mouth. When they break for air, Regina vaguely hears Leroy say, "Nothing to see here, people. Get a move on, get a move on," finally the dwarf is good for something. Robin touches his forehead to hers and then lifts his head to kiss her temple. He pulls her into a fierce hug, and she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

Regina trembles and struggles to breathe, but she sniffs and refuses to shed another tear. She mumbles into his shoulder, "God, I thought– I didn't know what she would do to you. I thought I would never see you again."

Robin combs knots out of her hair with his fingers, and then stills his hand. He leans away from Regina so he can look at her.

"You're exhausting, you know that," he states.

"Excuse me," she responds, her nose scrunches up.

"You ran from the tent?" He questions, but doesn't let her answer, wipes a bit of dirt off her cheek, but it doesn't really help, they're both filthy from battle. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was when the Wicked Witch showed up and I didn't know where you were. She was looking for you, and when I woke, you were gone. You keep doing that. You keep running."

"I'm not running now," she tells him.

"Why did you run in the first place?" He asks.

No holding back now.

"Because of Daniel, because I thought–" she begins, but he stops her.

"Regina, we've talked about this. I'm not going anywhere. I know you're afraid, but let me in, don't push me away."

"I know, and I shouldn't have run. You're right, but there's something I haven't told you yet. A short time after Daniel died, I was– that is– Leopold and Snow were gone very often, traveling across the realm to visiting neighboring kingdoms, and I was left alone. I felt more like the Queen of nothing than the Queen of the Enchanted Forest, all I had to keep me company was my anger. One night while they were away, I– I almost died. But a fairy saved me, and she told me I could find happiness again, that I could love again. She led me to this tavern, to a man who she said I was destined to be with. I never saw his face. But…" Regina pushes the sleeve of his shirt up covering his uninjured arm, revealing the lion and crest inked in black. "I did see his tattoo."

"It was me?"

"Yes. I was just too scared to approach you."

"So this morning, you saw my tattoo, and you ran?" He guesses, and she nods, confirming his suspicions. "Why?"

"It made it real. I already know how I feel about you, but seeing that tattoo, feeling it under my fingertips, It– Robin, your fate was sealed to mine. You never had a choice in choosing me, the decision was made for you because of a pixie's prophecy."

"You foolish woman."

"What?"

"You don't understand, do you?" She frowns at him, a little crinkle forming on her brow, and then his face softens and a serious tone takes his voice. "You've really no idea," he says it so matter a factly. "Regina," he begins, lifts her chin up so he can make sure she's looking at him. He doesn't think about the words flowing out of his mouth next, just says, "I love you. I love your stubbornness, and the way you tilt your head to the side when you're really listening to me, like you are now, when I've said something that strikes a chord in your heart. I love the way you make my son laugh, and the way we challenge each other." He cups her cheeks and brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead with the pad of his middle finger. "I love you. And it's nothing to do with pixie dust or fate or this cursed ink on my arm, and it's not because I owe you a debt for saving my son's life."

A tear slips down Regina's cheek, and he wipes it away with his thumb. "I've seen the way you've struggled with trying to be the best version of yourself ... for Henry, and for Snow and David, even though you're still not likely to admit how much you actually care for those two. I know how much your son's absence pains you. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost Roland, and yet ... you've not let the sadness consume you. It tried. But you fought. That's honorable, Regina, and it's one of the reasons why I fell in love with you, why I am in love with."

Regina is on the edge. Her eyes blur from unshed tears, her bottom lip quivers, and she doesn't trust her voice to speak in that moment, so she doesn't. Instead she mirrors his previous movements and places her small hands on either side of his face before pulling him down to her and crashing her lips in his, earnestly and then gently before pausing to inhale. She meets his eyes and rubs her thumb over the stubble on his chin.

Tears escape out the corners of her eyes, a lump stuck in her throat. Both of her hands are on either side of Robin's face now, they're both covered in grime.

"Regina–" Robin continues.

But she silences him with a wet, open-mouthed kiss, breaks away and says, "When I saw Zelena choking you, I thought, I did this. I keep ruining my own happiness, but the thing is, I don't want to do that anymore, Robin. I don't want to run. I want to stay, you make me want to stay," she admits, and then says three little words that he has been dying to hear. "I love you," she whispers, her forehead touches his, their lips centimeters apart, sharing the air between them. "I love you."

He bites his lower lip and grins, positively beaming.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Later in the evening, once new shelters and fresh canvas tents from the market village are set up and everyone eats supper, Robin and Regina walk hand-in-hand until they reach a small sandbar by the river. The sun starts setting in glorious rays of pink, purple, orange and blue. Roland is tucked safely in bed under the watchful eye of Granny, not a creature nor insect shall get to him least it wants to go up against her first.

"Do you recognize this place?" Robin asks Regina.

"Should I?" She inquires.

"That right there," he points, "Is where I pulled you from the water, where you almost drowned."

This was their place – the place where he saved her, a place where he now came to sort out things in his mind, a place he visited quite often, alone to mull over and process what he was thinking, but now he believes it's important to be here with Regina.

"Not easily forgotten," she says. "I don't exactly light a candle and commemorate the day I broke two ribs."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose one would choose not to remember that particular unfortunate occurrence," he chimes. "How are your ribs?"

He looks down at her and smiles.

"Mmm, stronger than ever," Regina replies, chuckling because her two bones healed weeks ago.

They're quiet after that, no need for a single word to be spoken. He can see in Regina's eyes that she understands why they're here at the spot where everything changed between them. He clasps her hand and draws her down to sit beside him. So much has happened to them in the last few months – the river, the friction between the townspeople of Storybrooke and the Merry Men, Zelena, two near death experiences, their first meeting in the woods, and most importantly their declarations of love to each other.

Robin places his arm around her, and she rests her head on his shoulder before moving so she can sit between his legs, leans her back against his chest. They watch the sunset together, listen as crickets chirp and the moon slowly rises while the sky shines orange still. Colors gradually deepen, casting glorious light and magnificent shadows across the landscape. A pair of white doves coo in the branches behind them. Robin's heart beats in tune with Regina's, their breathing synchronized. She shifts in her seat and leans more heavily against him, inclines her neck so she can look at his face. A smile brightens her expression, and he leans down to kiss her, hands rub up and down her arms.

Suddenly he wants her badly and finds it difficult to control his mind and body. He runs his fingers down her side and then tightened his hold on her before lightly moving his kisses to her neck, gauging her reaction. She trembles and sighs, then seems to melt into him, enjoying their closeness. His touch grows more tender and intimate, and he sucks on her throat until a red mark appears, blood vessels broken. Regina moans, and he swirls his tongue soothingly over the abrasion. Her heart starts to race as she begins to think about the possibilities of taking him here, out in the forest, far enough away from camp that no one would stumble upon them.

God, she wants that, wants to feel him inside her, wants to ride him until they're both out of breath, gasping and groaning and coming.

"Regina, I think…" he says before pausing, his voice husky with want. Robin pulls another groan from her throat as he slips the sleeve of her dress down so he can place kisses along her exposed collarbone, not finishing his sentence. His fingers find their way to her side, right against her breast but not quite. Regina brings his head back up to meet hers and this kiss is far from chaste and within seconds, he catches up with her enthusiastically.

Regina's lips are warm and mold to his perfectly. He quickly parts his mouth to allow her tongue to slide in and tangle with his. They shift positions several times, moving at different angles before finding the most comfortable one as they delve and taste one another, kissing and snogging and breathing heavily. Robin weaves his fingers through her hair, and Regina looks up at him from beneath her lashes. He sweep a strands back behind her ear and places a kiss just there, on that sensitive spot of her neck.

"I believe I should take you back to camp, M'lady." He mumbles the term of endearment against her flesh. Kisses there and nips as she tilts her head back to allow him better access.

Regina groans and then answers in a breathy whisper, "Must we?"

Mmmm. He sucks a little harder at her pulse point. "I'm not quite sure–" another kiss at her neck "the forest floor tis the best place–" another on her lips "for us to first do this..."

She hums, sidles a little closer and wraps her arms around his shoulders as he continues to nuzzle and pay attention to when exactly she gasps in delight. "Maybe you're right," she moans. Though, Robin isn't really paying attention to what Regina is saying, his mind a little preoccupied with a torrent of sensations – the soft skin of her neck under his lips, the way she smells of vanilla, her fingertips running shivers up and down his spine as her nails drag over his scalp. The only thing he's consciously aware of is the fact that he wants to tangle his fingers in the strands of her long, beautiful hair and kiss her until they're both too exhausted to move.

Suddenly Regina's fingers are pushing aside his cloak and untying the string at the front of his shirt. He clasps her hands in his, holding them still. "Regina, if you're not comfortable out here..."

She quiets him with her fingertips on his lips. "I plan on making love to you. Do you have a problem with that?"

He bites his bottom lip, attempting to contain the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth with her audacious words. "Not a problem, no. However, the temperature seems to be dropping rather quickly."

She leans forward and places a light kiss on his lips before assuring, "I'll keep you warm. I promise." She purrs and starts shifting, and Robin grips her hips, helps her straddles his waist, keeps her right where she is, pressed against him entirely. He smirks, brings her lips down to his, she grinds forward, and his hands slid up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her dress.

"You feel so marvelous," he tells her, whispers it right into her ear.

"Do you want me?" She asks him, her hands running over his stomach, up to his chest and she tugs until he raises his arms and rips his shirt over his head.

He bucks up to meet her, his cock straining beneath fabric, hard and throbbing already, eager to be inside her.

"Desperately," he groans out.

Regina slides her small, warm hands over his chest again, down to his stomach to the v that dips below the edge of his trousers. He wants to flip her, fill her and fuck her until she screams, but they're laying on a bloody rock, and he thinks for a moment this might have been a bad idea, he should take her in a bed, where there are pillows and furs to cushion their bodies as they writhe and come together, but then she's grinding herself against him again, his hands are on her creamy thighs, bunching up her skirt to her slim waist, his thumbs ever so close to the thin band of her smallclothes, humping and breathing heavily, sweat glistening on her brow, her nose is scrunching up, and Robin couldn't care less where they are.

He hooks his ankle behind her leg and rolls them, hand cradles the back of her head.

Oh fuck! The roll scraps his knuckles across the ground. This was not a good idea.

"I don't–" he kisses her "want to stop–" (he sort of does, just to move, just so their backs and arses aren't cut to bits because they were too impatient to pause for a moment and relocate). He tugs at her lower lip "but I think we might–" he pants against her open mouth, sharing the air between them "need somewhere more comfortable."

Regina smiles and just like that, they're nestled in the bed of furs in his tent. Purple smoke dissipating around them.

He grins at her. Not taken aback by her use of magic. Anything is acceptable so long as he doesn't have to lose contact with her skin.

"Great minds appear to think alike," he chuckles and then her mouth on his again silences him.

Their wet lips part and she breathes, "I prefer to not wait any longer."

And neither does he.

* * *

A few days after Zelena paid a visit to her little sister, she paid another house call to Mortianna, and the crone gave her some very interesting information.

"You're sure that's what you saw in your vision?" Zelena asks.

"Yes, the Queen will bare a child with the mark of the lion, and her daughter will be the key to either uniting or ruining all ten kingdoms."

Mortianna continues to tell her about the prophecy, giving her detail after detail, but Zelena isn't listening, tunes her out as the wheels start spinning in her head. She latches onto the one thread of information she actually needs.

Zelena cackles, "What a delicious turn out events."

Regina's baby is the last ingredient she needs for her curse. Now all she has to do is wait and bide her time, while her sister and her soul mate enjoy these last few months together. Soon, she will exact her revenge, and no one, no one will be shown mercy.

* * *

A little over a week later, the scouts return from their ride to the Queen's castle. Their suspicions confirmed, the witch has left it behind and deserted. The council meets and decides that the forest is not safe for anyone anymore. Not while Zelena and her simian army roam the lands.

They spread the word around camp and by the next morning they all gather needed supplies for the journey. Snow and Charming assure dwarves, townspeople and Merry Men alike that the castle will have plenty of room and comforts to provide for everyone. Thinking back to that meeting, Regina remembers the hesitance that settled among them.

"Is it smart to go back to the castle?" Grumpy asks looking around at everyone with skepticism. "I don't know about you guys, but that Wicked Bitch is a few broomsticks short of a cleaning service. There's no telling what kinds of traps she's set in that place."

Charming looks between Snow and Regina. "He's got a point. We don't know what's in there."

Regina sighs, "Well, we are sure as hell no better off out here. It's clear now more than ever that none of us are safe in the forest. Zelena knows how to get to us, knows our defenses. We are surely safer in the castle than wide out in the open."

"I agree with, Regina," Robin says from his place beside her. "We are no match for those numbers of winged beasts out in the open like this. It's too vulnerable to attack."

Snow nods thoughtfully. "Regina, if we get back into the castle do you think you'll be able to tell if there are dangers she might have left behind?"

Regina bites her cheek. Not really, she wants to say but doesn't. "I won't be able to tell you that until we get there, but what I do know is that she didn't have to leave. My guess is she wants something else."

"And what's that?" Robin asks.

"I don't know."

The trek to the castle takes two weeks on foot, going slow as to not rush the elders and youngsters of the camp. It's tedious and long, but they send lookouts and scouts in all directions to warn of any dangers along the way. They are as safe as they can be given the circumstances.

Regina's eyes meet Robin's, she smiles and they both look down at the tiny tot between them. Roland holds their big hands, humming little diddies to himself and no one else in particular, lost in his own little world of childlike wonder. Regina hears him making sound effects with his mouth, jerking down on her arm a little as his imagination spikes, and he kicks at an imaginary foe.

Two months before she was holding Roland's hand with Snow. And now, she's holding it with her soul mate.

She looks back at Robin who's still smiling down at his little boy. Is there anything more attractive than a proud, doting father? He meets her gaze again, and he silently counts, making a swaying motion with his other, hoping she catches his meaning, and, of course, she does. She's done it before. When his lips mouth "three," they swing their arms in unison, Roland's feet leave the earth, his eyeballs pop open, his chest lifts, his hands squeeze theirs tightly, and he squeals with glee.

"Papa! Gina!" he shouts, jumping up and down when his feet finally touch the earth.

They do it again, and a few more times after that, forgetting for a moment that a Wicked Witch has ways of spying on them in the forest.

* * *

Disclaimer: not mine


	9. Chapter 9

AN: This chapter was a labor of love. Haha. Anyways, sorry for the delay. I hope that it was worth the wait. XOXO, Jess

* * *

Draught of Living Death and True Love's Kiss

_A few weeks pass before their company arrives at the castle_

Regina hesitates at first, placing one hand gently on the heavy door in front of her, breathing slowly. When she finally pushes it forward, it gives easily, swings wide, revealing her old chambers. Concrete beams and arches and floors, vaulted ceilings that only make her large room seem larger still, reminding her of how lonely she felt in here, in this place, in these walls when she first married Leopold.

It's cold, decorated by a four-poster bed, worn tapestries hanging on the walls, oak vanity, long standing candle sticks and dwindled down melted wax. There's light in this room, flickers of goodness, a collection of dust and rememberings, remnants of the young girl she used to be before an ancient, elvish book made its way into her hands and Rumplestiltskin's name escaped through her lips.

She hasn't been in here for years, not since she arranged for her husband to be assassinated, not since seduction and power let her out of this concrete prison, not since choice and want finally became hers to control.

Regina looks around, her eyes grazing over old relics of a life no longer familiar. She hadn't known then that she'd be exchanging one form of a cell for another, hadn't known that locking away this room, sealing it shut wouldn't bring her the happiness she desperately desired.

A room that contains memories that make the magic inside her spark at her fingertips, the first living quarters she ever resided in after moving into Leopold's palace, a place that only takes her back to the midnight she ran away from her second chance.

A part of Regina wishes she didn't understand why she never rid herself of this space completely, why she didn't torch it to the ground with everything else that reminded her of what it meant to be good and weak. Wishes she didn't understand why she chose to hold onto this corner of the castle.

But it doesn't matter now, because she feels something akin to gladness that this room still stands, that she didn't ruin this part of her life the way she ruined everything else, thankful she can find refuge here, because she truthfully can't stomach the thought of going back to the chambers she occupied after she fully embraced being the Evil Queen.

Love is weakness, Regina. Power is freedom. Cora's words echo in her head, and she sighs, closing the door behind her with her back pressed against it.

Regina knows that isn't true anymore, knows her mother was wrong. Henry taught her that love isn't weakness, it's strength, and Roland and Robin are slowly teaching her the same, trying to convince her it's not foolish to have hope or foolish to want love and light in her life.

No, she'll stay here, in this room, in this part of the castle, in a place that memorializes a time before she traded love, and obedience, and weakness, and goodness for power, and black, and evil, and harsh gems, and strength, and magic, and prices she'd been willing to pay at the time. She'll stay here, because that's why she kept this room, that's why she didn't strip it bare, so she'd always have a piece to hold onto of that young girl who started the beginning of her life with hope, and love, and faith in her heart.

She wants that again.

Regina walks over to the open balcony, looks down at the castle's courtyard, and peers out into the chilly evening air, thinking about a night that could have turned out so differently had she not been afraid.

Just months after marrying the king, Regina forcefully slams her hands against the parapet over, and over, and over, "I just need– " until it breaks, causing her to lose her balance. Screaming, she falls toward the ground. A cloud of green dust appears underneath her and her rapid descent comes to a halt. "Put me down. What are you doing? What are you doing?" She cries frantically.

"Giving you a second chance," the sweet-faced fairy replies with a wave of her wand.

"Who are you?" Regina asks, floating back up to stand safely on the balcony landing.

"Tinkerbell," the blonde says, smiling at her widely.

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Regina shakes her head. No, that wouldn't have worked out. Not then. What would she have done? Run away with the man with the lion tattoo? Run away with Robin and started a life as traitors? Because that's what would've happened had she walked into that tavern, that's what would've happened had she turned her back on the crown and the king. And she wouldn't have (had) Henry, and Robin wouldn't have Roland.

Choices have consequences – she knows that better than anyone – and the price would've been too steep.

The castle is indeed abandoned, no longer occupied by a green-faced witch within its cold, concrete and metal walls, but that doesn't mean its halls are vacant. In fact, they're haunted and filled with shadows of a villainous monster, marred by the actions of the woman Regina used to be, not the woman she is trying very hard to become.

This is what she's been dreading since returning to the Enchanted Forest, since coming home, since taking her first breath and filling her lungs with the scent of pine, and rich dirt, and the snowbells that remind her of days spent with Daniel on Firefly Hill. This is what she's been apprehensive about, stepping foot back into a place overflowing with memories that taste bitter on her tongue.

Regina closes her eyes and takes deep, broken breaths.

She can do this. It doesn't have to be hard.

Tears prick at her eyes, and she hears the door open behind her with a creak. She knows who it is, she left him out in the hall, asked for one moment alone before he came in. His footsteps are soft, almost silent, and it's not until she feels his arms come around her waist and carefully hug her to him that she turns to face him.

Robin reaches up and tucks Regina's hair behind her ear, pressing his forehead to hers, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. "How are you fairing, love?" He asks ever so gently.

"I'm fine," she responds, and their noses faintly touch.

He continues to run his fingers through her hair, calming and soothing and pulling away cobwebs in her chest. "Now, tell me how you're really fairing," he requests, and she smiles sadly at how well he knows her already, because she used to be very good at keeping people out, and she knows that if he ever hurt her, if he ever left like everyone else who has ever left her, she might not survive. And that terrifies her, but it doesn't stop her from answering his question honestly. She can count on one finger the number of people she's ever been that completely vulnerable with.

"It's strange. That's all. Being here," she starts, leaning further into his warm arms. "You know, I could point out a bad memory in every corner, in every nook and crevice of this castle. I don't remember any good ones. Just what I was before my mother sealed my fate by accepting the King's proposal."

Robin eases his hand to the back of her neck, massaging at the base of her skull. Regina sighs contentedly and shuts her eyes again.

"I suppose, I'll have to help you make new good ones," he proclaims in a whisper, his voice gruff and tender as it warms the cockles of her heart. It hurts Robin, seeing the pain in her eyes. He knows she's revisiting old wounds, the way he did not too long ago after he got lost in his grief and fury over Marian's death. But he has faith that Regina will find a way to heal, and he'll be right there with her to remind her of what she is truly capable. He gently brushes his thumb over her closed eyelids, kissing her sweetly. She moulds her mouth to his, pliant and soft and putty in his hands as he lightly traces his tongue over her bottom lip, and then pulls away. "And there's the first one," he grins, and she chuckles right back, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of forest, and sandalwood, and something else that she describes as being distinctly him. "Come on," he urges. "Roland can hardly contain his excitement. He wants to explore with his majesty."

"His majesty?" Regina questions, leaning her head away so she can look at him.

"Yes, he's been calling himself your little knight. Says you're his majesty. No one else's. He rather disliked it when I asked if he'd share. Scrunched up his nose a bit."

Regina laughs, and it's full, and beautiful, and warm and airy. And Robin loves that he makes her laugh, loves that his son makes her laugh. He'll do it until she only has happy memories in this place, until the good far outweighs the bad.

The first week back at the castle is the hardest for Regina, but Robin and her little knight make it easier.

* * *

During the middle of the second week, Regina sits in the library one afternoon; using the raging storm outside as an excuse to hole away by candle light to find something, anything that might help her – them – in defeating her sister, in defeating Zelena. However, everything she reads, everything she thinks she's found that might lead to some hopeful solution turns out to be a dead end. Growing frustrated, she slams another book on top of another pile on a large, oak table and starts rummaging through the shelves once more.

Robin walks by the open door and then backtracks his steps, spotting her long, dark hair and simple, cobalt and lace gown from in the hall. Slowly and very softly, he makes his way to her, taking great care to tread as faintly as possible so she won't hear him. He is almost upon her, when she sighs gently.

"Robin," Regina greets.

His shoulders fall. "How did you hear me?" He inquires, feeling slightly deflated. "You know, once upon a time, I was a great thief who could steal from the pockets of lords and kings without them ever knowing I was there. And now, now, it seems I've lost my touch."

"Oh, I didn't hear you," she states, and he detects the amusement in her voice. She turns to look at him, and he groans internally at the way she's biting her lower lip.

"Well, then pray tell, love. What gave me away?" He questions, stepping in her direction, invading her personal space.

"The mirror," Regina nods to his reflection not a few feet from her along the wall.

"Oh."

They grin at each other for a moment before Regina asks, "What are you doing here?"

"I would think that's quite obvious. Looking for you," he confesses, taking one more step toward her, close enough that it builds a tangible heat in the space between them.

She smiles at him and fists her hand in the front of his shirt, pulling him to her, leaning so that their foreheads are almost touching, and it seems to Robin that this, this is so much more important than wicked witches, or flying winged beasts, or curses, and other problems that may or may not come their way.

"Mmm, and why were you looking for me?"

He breathes her in and says, "I just put Roland down for his nap, and–"

"Is he in the room next to ours?" She interrupts. "Or did he want to stay with the other children?"

"He's in the one near ours," he grins and cups her cheek, rubbing his thumb there. Her concern for his son is quite adorable.

"And he's adjusting well? He doesn't mind the castle versus the woods and the outdoors?"

"Regina, he's fine. We're all fine and safe here, that's all that matters."

"But–" she begins, and he steals the words from her lips with a chaste kiss, rubs his cheek against her cheek, the rasp of his stubble against her jaw.

"Love, it's been over a month. If anything was going to happen, if Zelena was going to attack, it would've transpired by now."

"No," Regina shakes her head back and forth. "She's waiting, biding her time while we sit here thinking we've nothing to worry about." She threads her fingers through his hair, the same way he does to her more and more frequently. "Robin, I'm not going to stand by and do nothing while she plots my undoing. She knew things about me, about us that she couldn't possibly have known without help or foresight. I told you what she wanted, and her price is too high. I won't give up you and Roland; I won't surrender what I'm trying to rebuild. You taught me that, to never give up, so I'm not going to, no matter how many days I have to spend in this library."

She shuts her eyes, unable to prevent the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, unable to stop feeling like something is bound to go wrong at any moment.

He doesn't speak, just lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses her fingers, rotating her palm so it points upwards, those same lips kiss their way to the inside of her wrist. Her heart rate jumps as his breath feathers warmly over her skin, and everything around them seems to fade into the gray of the background.

"You're not alone," he says between sweet kisses. "I will be by your side, no matter the outcome." His ministrations – so soft and gentle – cause her to hum in reply, her heartbeat jumping as he sucks at the pulse point there on her wrist, paying languid attention to the way she flushes in response. "I will stand with you, and we will find a way to defeat the Wicked Witch together."

Through Regina's inner mayhem, Robin's concentration remains focused on the delicate underside of her arm, his thumb rubbing soothingly over where her blood pumps with tangible rhythm. Inhaling a shaky breath, her entire body trembles with need. He's barely touching her, nowhere near close to her lips or breasts or the sex between her legs, and already she's achy and weak-in-the-knees.

His speech, his reassurance, his unrelenting faith in her, it brings tears to her eyes. He's so comforting and encouraging, and confident in their abilities together.

Robin lures her into a stupor of arousal, and Regina's body begins begging for more. He halts his movements, and she raises her head slowly. His eyes – dark and expressive – meet hers, and he eases his other hand up to brush along her cheek, fingers resting gently on her jawline, thumb caressing her bottom lip. For the longest moment, his deep blues hold her rich browns, and she thinks about the days, weeks, months and years wasted – thankfully behind them. Now, all they have is the next breath, the next moment. All they have is a future – his and hers and theirs.

Robin leans forward and claims her mouth, stealing air from her lungs in an electric rush – soft but firm, speaking of need and desire and love. His grip tightens ever so slightly on her neck, fingers tangling further in her hair. Robin pulls her nearer, guides them toward the table, it hits at the back of her legs, and she's practically sitting on it now, providing support for their feverish snogging as he deepens the kiss. The contours of her body fit him perfectly, and he rubs up against her, creating a friction between them that makes them both groan in approval. Regina parts her lips and his tongue collides tantalizingly with hers. She moves her hand instinctively to the side of his face, and Robin rotates his hips, she can feel him beneath his trousers, beneath two layers of her dress, but it's not enough, only provides a fraction of the pleasure she knows their bodies – bare and wrapped around each other – can bring.

He's about ready to lift her onto the table and take her right there, when they both hear a clear and perturbed "Ahem," causing them to jump away from each other.

Robin adjusts his trouser and runs his hand along the back of his neck. Regina tugs on her dress, smoothing out wrinkles and creases. They both turn around to an unreadable expression on Granny's face.

"This is a library," she chastises them in a frosty tone, palm on her hip, lantern hanging from her hand, foot tapping on the floor. "Last time I checked, neither of you are teenagers, if you cannot contain yourselves or at least lock the door…" She lets the threat go unspoken, grabs a book, turns, and strides back out into the corridor, her heavy boot heels clunking against flagstones, as they had not done during her approach.

Regina and Robin wait until the sounds of the old woman's footsteps fade away into the distance, nothing but a faint echo, then Regina whispers, "This is a library," in a tone meant to impersonate the old wolf.

"Blimey," Robin says, blinking. "That explains all these books."

Laughter bubbles up again, but instead of letting it out, Robin puts his hands on either side of Regina's face and kisses her lips. They make out for a few more moments, and then he slides his hands down until they stop at her waist. He guides them over to the cushion-covered window ledge, sits them down, settles her between his legs. Regina magics a book into her grasp. She'd been reading it before he so rudely interrupted her research. Robin eases her silky locks away from one side of her neck and places a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat.

"You're terrible, you know that?" She sighs, her head falling back against his shoulder.

"Absolutely," Robin agrees.

She slips her hand back, her fingers find their way to the back of his head, tangling in his hair. She lightly scratches her nails against his scalp, and it sends tingles down his spine. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get anything done with you in here," Regina says with an exaggerated huff.

Robin closes his eyes, enjoying the night's silence and her fingers gently stroking his hair. He could fall asleep, he thinks, with her resting against his chest and his arms hugged to her middle.

How much more bloody reading does she really need to do?

She smells nice – his mind wonders sleepily – like sun-warmed wood and lavender.

"You're awfully quiet," Regina murmurs after a while.

"Mmm," Robin replies.

"Don't fall asleep."

"I'm not asleep."

"Please, don't drool on my dress," she requests, angling her head to look up at him. His head is drifting downward.

God, he's cute and ruggedly handsome.

She reaches up again and twirls a lock of his hair around one of her fingers and gives it a tiny tug.

"All right, oww!" He opens his eyes and rubs at the offending spot. "Was that to keep me awake?"

She smiles and shakes her head. "That was for fun."

He bites his lip to keep from swearing and scowls playfully.

"I'm sorry," she offers him with a chuckle, and it warms his spirit. Even if he was annoyed, he could never stay that way for long, not with Roland and not with her.

"It's all right," he says. And it is. They smile at each other, and it seems to Robin that they're in their very own corner of the world – a spot made just for them. He hugs his arms more tightly around her and places his chin on the crown of her head.

"What?" Regina whispers. "What are you thinking?" She rubs up and down his arm, the book long forgotten in her lap.

"I was just thinking how much I love you and how much I really wish you were done reading for the night."

"Oh?" Regina questions, leaning closer to him. Their noses nudge. "So, tell me what would we do if I were to say 'I was all done' for the evening?"

"Well," Robin begins warmly. He tilts her head up and kisses her lips. "It's not really the sort of thing I can tell you." His blue eyes gleam with mischief. "But I can show you, if her majesty wishes."

They don't stay in the library for much longer after that, both push themselves off the window seat and walk hand-in-hand to their room.

* * *

At the end of the third week and into the fourth, Regina starts having consistent nightmares, each the same as the one before.

She wanders through the winter palace, passing by locked room after locked room. Familiar columns and metal architecture cold and foreboding as she walks toward a light emanating from a door at the end of the hall. Cobwebs stick to her arms and legs, and she brushes them off. A cackling echoes and resounds off brick and steel, and she whirls around when she feels something touch the back of her neck. There's nothing there, but she knows what comes next. This dream, this nightmare, this place she keeps coming back to in her sleep, it never changes. She looks down at the red, eye-lit dress she's clothed in, down at the black stilettos on her feet. The castle and her modern attire don't fit, they don't belong together, but she can't figure out what it means.

A baby – the baby cries; she spins around on her heels, urgently stalks toward the noise. The wailing increases, and she picks up her pace, the shrill cackling is back, reverberates in her ears, pounds in her skull, and the walls start closing in on her with each stride she takes. She gets to her bedroom door, throws it open, and … she's not expecting the view in front of her. It's different this time.

A cradle rocks in the center of the room, a mobile with dangling glass lions above it. Regina cautiously approaches it, peeks over the side, and gasps.

A tiny bundled infant wiggles her arms and legs, soft downy, brown hair on her head, sweet, rosy baby cheeks, and piercing blue eyes. The little girl looks up at her and gives her a precious dimpled smile. She bends over and picks her up, cradling her in her arms, tracing her finger over the baby's tummy.

"Hello, little one," Regina whispers, and the infant grips tightly to her thumb. "And who do you belong to, hmm?"

It's a sweet moment, where both of their eyes meet, and a love and fierce protectiveness that she hasn't experienced since holding Henry for the first time seeps through every ventricle of her heart. And then the crying starts again, wind beats granules of sand against her flesh, she cover the baby with her body, and a stabbing pain rips through Regina's shoulder. She screams and stares down, blood seeps out of a wound tarnishing her skin. A cackle sounds from behind her, and she whirls around.

The white witch glares at her menacingly. "You can't save them all, dearie. Rivers will run red, graves will mount high, tears will fall for the dead, and your love will be for nigh."

"No," Regina shouts. "You're wrong!"

"You can't even save that little brat," the crone points. "She'll be ours before the leaves begin to fall again. Flowers will sprout and die, and the Weeping will rise up and take what's rightfully ours."

Regina steps back away from the woman, tripping over something solid. The baby vanishes from her arms. She hits the unforgiving concrete with a thud, and when her eyes drift up, her rich browns connect with Robin's cold, dead blues, an arrow piercing through his heart. A high-pitched ringing drills into her eardrums.

Regina jolts up in bed, the fabric of her nightdress clings to her sweat drenched skin. She pants and tries to catch her breath, one hand at her stomach, the other covering her mouth as she tries to stifle her sobs. Her eyes frantically take in Robin's sleeping form next to her.

He is safe. Roland is safe. They are safe. She eases herself off the bed, the pads of her feet touch the cool floor, and she slips out of their room and goes to her old vault.

She knows the nightmare isn't just her subconscious bringing her fears to the forefront, it's not just vapors and nothing. It foretells a future she's not ready to accept.

She won't lose him, not again, won't lose the love she's found. She'll fight for it, in whatever way she can. She'll figure out what the dreams mean, who this witch is, and the role this baby has to play. Regina needs answers.

In the morning, Robin wakes to her missing, and he sighs, knowing exactly where to find her.

* * *

Four days later, Regina and Roland play mindlessly in the gardens. Robin and Much patrol the grounds outside the castle walls with David and Leroy. They planned to head into town for a few supplies, and she offered to watch the young lad. She doesn't mind spending time with him, in fact, she quite loves it.

"Roland, wait," Regina calls after him as he runs around her apple tree. They've been engaging in a game of tag for quite awhile now, chasing and giggling. But she's tired, still hasn't been sleeping well, her head pounds, and she feels just slightly dizzy. She reaches up toward one of the low-hanging branches and grips it for support as the world spins. She closes her eyes and waits for it to right itself.

"Gina?" Roland asks, tugging of her skirt. "You okay, majesty?"

"Mmhm, I'm okay, sweetheart," she replies, not quite sure if she really is. She must be coming down with the same cold some of the other children have. Michael recently came to Doc asking him for a tonic for Hansel and Gretel. That must be it. "How about we go inside for awhile? Your papa should be back soon. We could wait for him in the Great Hall. How does that sound?"

"Okay," he responds, taking the hand at her side.

The two of them spend the rest of the day together. They eat lunch in the kitchen with Granny, read a few books curled up in Regina's bed. She even finds the energy to explore with him, but by evening, she's really not feeling well, and three more people are sick, including Roland. By the time Robin returns, she and his boy are snuggled in bed next to each other. He lifts his lad and changes him into his night tunic, giving him a cup of water before his tiny eyes close again, lulled back into slumberland. Robin lays him down on the lounge in their room and covers him with a thin sheet.

"You don't have to do that," Regina says, still unappreciative of her current vertigo. "He can sleep up here with us."

"Trust me," Robin tells her. "He may look small, but he's a bear while sleeping. It might start off sweet and cuddly, but sooner or later, you'll end up with a foot in your face or an elbow to the ribs."

She grins weakly, and he scoots under the comforter beside her and pulls her into his arms.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"Terrible."

"I'm sorry, love," he replies, kissing her on her temple. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Mmhm," she hums as he runs his fingers through her hair. "That's a start."

He smiles and continues to gently stroke and comb and massage the tension out of her shoulders, until she joins Roland in sleep, exhausted and weary.

In the morning, Robin stirs as Regina presses herself up against him, clinging to his shirt with all her strength. Her breathing is deep and even, and yet too fast. Her eyelids flutter and her brow line contorts alternatively between fear and confusion. She is obviously dreaming again. He comfortingly strokes her forehead and then pulls her more tightly into his embrace. He continues to soothingly caress her, running his fingers through her silky, dark hair, until she relaxes and her breathing slows.

Suddenly, a rush of emotion ripples through Robin, and he's overwhelmed by how much he loves Regina. More so than he ever believed possible. He shuts his eyes and prays that she rest well, that these nightmares stop tormenting and leave her once and for all.

A rustling of blankets sounds to his right, and he turns his gaze to look at Roland. His tiny toddler stirs as the dawn splits across the sky. The little boy sits up, his forehead creases, and he frantically looks around him, seeking something or someone more familiar. He spies his father in the big bed and begins to cry softly, "Papa," and then more loudly, "Papa, I want you."

Robin gently disentangles himself from Regina's embrace and gets up to lift his tearful son into his arms. Roland is crying more fitfully now. "Shh," he soothes. "We're here with you. Nothing to be afraid of."

Roland nods tearfully and wraps his arms around Robin's neck. His son's hair is wet from sweat. Robin sighs. He hates that his son and Regina have succumbed to the same illness spreading throughout the castle.

He returns to the bed and climbs back in, setting Roland down in the middle next to Regina. He whispers, "You can sleep with your majesty and me." With his fingertips, he gently wipes at the tears, drying on his face, and the hair matting across his brow.

The little boy turns to peer at his Gina. One tiny hand reaches out to softly stroke her face, and then he settles down to sleep between the two of them, his papa's thumb grasped securely in his hand.

"Don't wake Regina," he says to him in a hushed tone. "It's really early. Do you think you could maybe go back to sleep for a little while, too?"

The little boy looks at his father in disbelief, shakes his head and buries his face against his shoulder. "I don't feel good, Papa."

Realizing that he is getting nowhere, Robin concedes, "I know, my boy. Come on, let's be real quiet and rest with Regina a while then, okay?"

The little boy nods and gives his papa a half smile.

"Now, shh," he whispers again. "Regina needs to sleep, too."

Roland turns to peer at her peaceful features. He looks back at his papa, and imitating him, he whispers, "Is Gina still sick, too?"

"I'm afraid so. So you both need a lot of rest."

The tiny tot slides down under the covers facing Regina and carefully reaches out to place his hand against her cheek. Much to Robin's amazement, the boy begins to hum what he supposes is meant to be a lullaby, though there is little of the tune he actually recognizes. Gradually his humming becomes softer and wearier until he also is fast asleep.

An hour later, Regina awakes as the fingers of a tiny hand gently trace the shape of her eyes and then move slowly down to feather across her cheekbones. She opens one eye to see Roland watching her from only inches away. She can't help but smile as the little boy beams when he realizes his majesty is at last awake.

"Morning, sweetheart," Regina greets.

Roland's arms suddenly fling around her neck, and he settles in for a cuddle.

At some point, Robin must have fallen asleep, too, because he jerks his head up in response as his son's backside and legs abruptly push into his chest. Robin rubs his eyes and then chuckles at Regina's predicament. "Ah, Roland let's let Regina breathe, yeah?" He sits up and grabs his son by the waist, pulling him into his lap.

Roland sighs as Regina scoots herself up into a sitting position. She moans softly.

"I really wish this sickness would just go away," she remarks grumpily and reaches across to take an impatient Roland from Robin.

Turning and straddling Regina's legs so that he faces her, Roland begins to play with the her long, silky braid. She notices his tired eyes, slightly off colored cheeks, and leans forward, resting the back of her hand against his brow, looking up into Roland's face questioningly and then across to Robin.

"He's still sick."

Robin nods, "I'm afraid so."

Roland leans against Regina and coughs. "Gina, I'm tired."

Her arms wrap around him. "I know, I'm sorry," she kisses his forehead and pulls back to look into those dark, sleepy eyes. "You can stay in bed with me today, okay?"

The little boy agrees and snuggles into her chest, closing his eyes.

Regina turns her attention to Robin. "Are you okay?"

Robin shakes his head. "I'm fine, love."

"Can you do me a favor and ask Granny to make us some willow bark tea? It'll help bring his fever down." She tells him as she adjusts Roland to lie down beside her.

"And what may I get for you, M'lady?" He asks her gently, running a hand across her forehead.

Regina waves him off. "Just water, please."

Robin nods and kisses her lips. He pulls a shirt over his head and heads for the door.

* * *

A few days later, Roland feels much better and Regina appears to be on the mend. The four-year-old skips through the hall, followed closely by his majesty. After making the apple turnovers all those weeks ago in the heart of Sherwood Forest, Roland can't stop thinking about cinnamon and pastry dough and the way the yummy treat slid down his throat and warmed his belly. So when Gina asked him this morning if he'd like to help her bake a pie – a special treat for him now that he's finally healthy again – he gleefully accepted and shouted a yes, please.

This time differs from the turnovers in the quiet of his and his papa's tent. This time his majesty uses magic for almost everything, entertaining him and pulling laughter and squeals up and out of his mouth.

Something the Queen calls nutmeg, and sugar, and salt and a few other things he doesn't recognize come together. Flour sifts itself in the air, while Regina quarters apples from her tree and then dices them, mixing the juicy fruit with the other ingredients obeying her .

This time differs in the making, but it's the same in the joy and wonder and excitement he feels just by being close to his majesty, to his Gina.

He pinches a bit of sugar in between his fingers, inspecting the course, opaque stuff. It's not often (hardly ever) that he gets such extravagant, scrumptious treats. Days and months and years on the road, tucked away in the forest, sleeping in tents, hunting, foraging and living amongst brandished outlaws and common thieves doesn't lend one much time to indulge in costly ingredients or desserts that aren't a necessity.

"What's all this?" Robin asks, stepping into the kitchen. The wood fire oven is blazing and heating the room. He walks up behind Regina, easing his arms around her. He gives her a caring squeeze and his hands find purchase on her hips. She rests her head against his shoulder and turns her face toward him, fluttering her eyes closed and nuzzling the crook of his neck.

"Papa! Gina and I are making a pie!" Roland shouts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Want ta help?"

"Mmm," his papa muses, maneuvering himself and Regina out of the way of two eggs dancing through the air toward a ceramic bowl. The motion jars Regina's eyes open. She stands up taller and waves her hand to wrangle remaining ingredients. "It looks like the two of you have it all under control," Robin says, grinning at his tiny lad with smudges of flour all over his face.

It pleases him that Regina has been using magic more frequently as of late. It's a part of her, like a third arm in the same way that he feels about his bow – an extension of himself, of herself, integral pieces of their being.

"What do we do next, Gina?" Roland asks, munching on a slice of apple.

"Here, I'll show you, sweetheart," she tells him, stepping out of Robin's comforting hold. He lets her go, albeit a tad reluctantly and watches as she rolls out a ball of dough onto the flour dusted tabletop.

Roland ducks under Regina's outstretched arms and situates himself between her and the table, putting his little fingers on the edge to see what she's doing better. She smiles and heaves a light weight sigh. He's so inquisitive and precious and wonderful, it makes her heart swell up and an ache form in her stomach, thinking about this amazing little toddler who, without much effort, chased away her darkness. She bends down and places a kiss to the crown of his head; he angles his neck to look up at her and grins, reaching up to touch her face. Roland's little thumb brushes over her cheek and then he's back to bouncing on the balls of his feet, excitement and anticipation getting the best of him.

"How much longer, Gina?" He asks, staring at the unbaked dessert. She chuckles and waves her hand again, the pie nearly complete with a lattice top neatly covering the apple filling within.

"Patience, my boy," Robin instructs with a dimpled grin, leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed. "I'm sure it won't be much longer now. It appears your majesty is already using quite a many shortcuts to satisfy your sweet tooth."

"He's alright, I don't mind," Regina assures.

The pie doesn't take long to bake after that, bubbling and steaming hot from fire and burning coals. Once it cools to a manageable level for their tastebuds, Regina cuts the pie into eighths and dishes them each a slice.

Sugar and cinnamon coat each bite of flaky crust and fruit that Roland puts into his mouth. He tries ever so hard to chew slowly, to savor each morsel – happy and content to be with his papa and his majesty.

* * *

Regina wakes from her sound nap, aware that something feels a bit different, but in her drowsy state she is unable to put her finger on the reason why. She stretches lazily and opens her eyes, peering at the open balcony of the bedroom. She sets her feet on the ground and walks out into the fresh air. A loud, booming thunder and a flash seconds later allude to the storm that's on the horizon.

She sighs contentedly and then feels Robin's strong arms pull her to him. He's warm against her back and it sends delightful shiver to the tips of her toes as she momentarily relives their lovemaking from late last night. She instinctively reaches behind her, feeling his bare hip and muscled thigh beneath her fingertips. Robin smiles, placing his lips against the nape of her neck to her shoulder.

"Hey," he greets her softly; his lips and hands caress her bare back. "You're finally awake. You've been asleep a long time."

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, loving his gentle hands on her body.

"Are you feeling okay?" He asks, leaning across to kiss her lightly.

"Mmmm, I'm fine. Just another dream," she replies sleepily, returning his kiss.

"The same dream?"

"It's just a dream, Robin," she says.

Robin slides his hand in under her nightdress and gently caresses her soft curves. "Hmm, alright, if you insist, then. Do you feel like going and getting some breakfast? Roland already went down with John not too long ago. If we get dressed this minute, we might be able to have breakfast together."

With one hand, she covers his on her stomach, interlocking their fingers and holding them still against herself. With the other, she reaches out to draw his head down to hers for a long, leisurely kiss.

As their lips part, Robin smiles and whispers, "Or perhaps we can just stay in bed a while longer?"

She gently cups his face and runs her thumb across his jawline, her eyes filling with tears.

"Regina, what is it?" he asks, guiding her back to bed. He lifts the covers, and she follows without hesitation.

"It's nothing. I just … I just love you," she whispers almost shyly, covering his hand lightly with her own. "Do you want to go–" Regina sits up abruptly and closes her eyes. A wave of dizziness washes over her, and she brings her hand instinctively to her mouth, feeling like she might need to throw up.

She feels Robin's hand on her back. "Regina, love. Are you alright?"

She nods, not sure if she can do much more than that. She takes deep breaths and waits for whatever this is to pass.

But it doesn't.

Robin follows her and watches intently as Regina swings her legs over the side of the bed, tentatively standing up. She shivers as the cool morning air hits her warm, bare skin. Robin reaches for her robe, helping her slip into it. She holds her breath, slowly begins to move around, then pales as her stomach momentarily lurches sickeningly as it had moments ago, quickly subsiding once again. She smiles reassuringly at Robin. His brow creases in concern, and he notices her change of color.

"I might still be sick. My stomach is disagreeing with me again. Better be careful about what I eat for breakfast," she says with a soft sigh.

"Well, surely there will be something light downstairs for you. Perhaps some bread and tea to start?"

She nods and heads away to find something to wear for the day.

* * *

In the Great Hall, a pair of anxious eyes watches her as she slowly eats her way through a piece of bread. Roland, oblivious to Robin's concern for Regina, sits beside her, commanding her attention by chattering exuberantly in his own unique way. Robin, slowly relaxes as the wholesome food seems to have no ill-effects on Regina, and gradually they start to talk about their day and things they might do.

* * *

The Weeping Woods

"I told you not to touch anything."

"What are yew brewing?" An eighteen-year-old boy watches as Mortianna crushes a Sopophorous bean with the flat side of her silver dagger, releasing juices efficiently. She ignores his question, continues pouring water into a small cauldron. He leans forward and almost nudges the table, but she grabs his wrist, stilling him instantly.

"Do not shake or move or even breathe until I am finished," she bites, her nails digging into his skin. He winces when the jagged edge of her thumbnail cuts into his palm. "This is Draught of Living Death, my boy. And it is a fickle, fickle curse, requiring caution."

Mortianna releases him, and he grimaces, rubbing the red mark on his arm. She pushes up her sleeves again and procures the essence of wormwood from a jar behind her on the mantle. With her left hand, she holds the cauldron and adds in ten drops of the putrid looking liquid. She chops three Valerian roots into small squared pieces and places them each in the slowly boiling water. As the mixture begins to roll, it transforms into a smooth blackcurrant-colored liquid. She stirs it nine times clockwise, the color shifts again into a light shade of lilac, and then she stirs in the opposite direction until the potion turns clear as the a mountain stream.

"Hand me the powdered root of asphodel. It's behind you on that shelf there," she commands, pointing without looking. When she doesn't hear creaking floorboards or footfalls, she glances up at the scrawny brat who hasn't moved an inch. She points again and clenches her jaw.

"Now, yew wan' me ter move?" He sneers, and then does as she instructs after she threateningly glares at him. He hands her the vial. She uncorks it and dumps the contents into her brew. The potion flashes pink, settles, and Mortianna smiles.

"It's finished," she cackles, bottling the mini curse.

"So that's it. You poison Robin Hood's camp an' da Evil Queen, just wiv that little bit?"

"I never said anything about poisoning them. This is for someone else. I have a bone to pick with a gray-bearded wizard."

"What? All that, an' it's not even fer da Evil Queen?!"

"You know what the Wicked Witch said. She needs her alive."

"But yew know what she did! Yew know wot she took from me!"

"What she took from both of us! You may be my brother's son, Jakan, but do not forget to whom it is you speak," Mortianna seeths, her eyes wild and bloodshot. "Now, you had your part to play. I told you to blend in, to get to know the archer and his men better, to discover their weaknesses so that we could infiltrate their camp when the time was right, but you showed your hand too soon. Robin Hood's trust will not be gained back, not after he exiled you. We need to wait. We need to follow the Wicked Witch's orders, strengthen our forces with Nottingham, and only then will we be able to exact our revenge. He wants her dead and the archer, too, if not more than we do. I will not let the Evil Queen get away with murdering your parents. I will avenge your father's death, and we will make her pay. But it's a matter of timing, and right now we have to wait."

Mortianna finished bottling two more vials of the draught and then left her nephew to stew in his rage.

"Foolish crone. I'll show 'er, I'll show all ov 'em," he spits, stalking over to the stagnant concoction. He grabs a jar, much bigger than the one his aunt picked up, and spoons the liquid into it, observing as it coats the inside of the glass and pools at the bottom.

He travels out of the woods and meets up with his buddy Alec at their normal hideout, a good few miles away from the castle. He's been getting all his information from him since Robin Hood banished him. They form a plan together on how they're gonna cripple the castle.

"All yey 'ave ter do is plop dis in'er a stew awer pawridge awer what 'ave you. And da hex'll do da rest."

"But, Jakan… what about Nottingham's orders? He told us to wait," Alec says, taking the elixir out of his hand.

"I don't give a flyin' fuck about 'is orders. We're doin' dis now. I'm tired ov waiting. I've waited fer fr'y years because ov 'er curse. No more. Her 'ead should ov been on a spike a long time ago."

"Fine. What is this?" He asks, swirling the liquid around.

He knows the plan, understands what Jakan wants him to do, he has no qualms with it. They need to get rid of the Evil Queen, and anyone who supports her is a threat.

"Draught ov Livin' Death."

* * *

Regina groans, rubbing her temples, trying to soothe the migraine that's building at the base of her skull. She's pale, has dark, ugly circles under her eyes, and she knows she's moving slower than usual, dragging her feet along cold, hard floors. She walks past a window and the streaming light invading the hallway makes her wince. She recoils into the shadows and continues trudging back to her room.

She hasn't felt well for weeks, dizzy and nauseous and fatigued and knows she's running hot. Curse those children for giving her their damn colds. She doesn't have time for influenza.

"Regina," Snow shouts her name, running down the castle corridor toward her. She is panting and her cheeks are flushed. "There's something wrong. Doc needs you."

"What do you mean the dwarf needs me? What could've possibly happened in the last thirty minutes since we all saw each other at breakfast?"

"Please, he said it's urgent. I wouldn't have come to find you if it wasn't," Snow replies, looking her up and down. "I know you haven't been feeling well lately, and I just wanted to–"

"I'm feeling just fine, and I'd prefer it if you didn't make assumptions."

Regina follows the usually cheerful Princess to the healing wing, and once she steps over the threshold, she stops in her tracks. "Snow? What happened after I left breakfast early?"

At least fifteen people lay on the ground, in beds, and on cots, shivering and twitching.

"David is talking to a young girl now. Her name is Laura. She came forward just after people started eating the porridge Granny made. She said she saw someone pour something into it when they thought nobody was looking. We stopped everyone from eating as soon as we could, but–"

"And the girl didn't think to warn everyone before they started eating?" Regina groans, she's surrounded by idiots.

Snow frowns. "No, she was threatened. He told her he'd gut her if she said anything. But when one of the children went to get a bowl, she couldn't stay silent."

"Where's this person now? The one who threatened her?"

"We don't know. But, Regina, I think … we think that whatever he added was poison."

"Obviously," Regina retorts, staring at the ten victims moaning and seizing in their catatonic states.

"Doesn't make sense," Doc says, coming over to the Queen and the Princess. "I've tried everything." He stares at his table cluttered with muddled herbs, tonics and balms. "Nothing seems to be working," he exclaims exasperated. "And unless we can find out what was in that bottle, I can't give any of these people a remedy. Their bodies are starting to shut down."

"Is this it?" Regina asks. "Is this everyone who ate the porridge?"

"Yes," Snow confirms. "Laura came forward pretty quickly, and we stopped the line after that. This is it. No one else ate anything."

"There's something else," Doc mentions, gesturing for the two women to follow him. He takes them to a man unconscious on a cot and lifts up his tunic slightly, revealing black veins making their way to his heart. "I don't know what that is, but I know it can't be good."

Regina takes a step back and realization dawns on her, her eyes scan the pop up beds around them.

"It's a curse. A lot like the one I gave you Snow," she says. "Only this one, it's more complicated and difficult to procure."

"You've seen this before?"

"Living Death. It's fueled by malice," Regina whispers. She tilts her head sideways and feels it easily now that she knows what she's looking for; the air is dense with it. It settles over the castle like a fog. "Dark magic."

It sends chills up her spine. This potion doesn't discriminate or take into account the lives it touches. It mercilessly fells men, women and children.

"Regina?" Snow's voice calls from behind her. "What do you mean malice and dark magic?" She pleads with her, her hands rest on her hips, concern on her face for the people who are sick.

"I mean malice. When making this potion you literally breath malice into every step. It's not like baking a cake, Snow. You have to stir things in a specific direction, clockwise and then counter clockwise, and if the recipe requires you to add malice, you have to think of every horrible thing you've ever wanted to do or have done while mixing the ingredients together. It literally binds your intent into the very fabric of the draught." Regina sighs with frustration, clenching and unclenching her fists. "There isn't much I can do. Make sure no one else so much as touches breakfast from this morning. It needs to be burned. I can take care of that."

"But, how do we help them? Fifteen people have this, this curse."

Regina smiles sadly. "That's the thing about the Living Death curse. It's just that. A curse. There isn't an antidote."

"But what about True Love's kiss? David and I, and Emma, we–"

"If you're suggesting that each one of these people has found their True Love, Snow, please. Don't be naïve. I know you're better than that. Some of these peasants don't even have family members here, True Love is sacrificial and the most powerful and pure of all magics. I know that, and you know that. It requires you to give a part of yourself up for the other person. If it was so easily replicated do you really think that Emma would be the only Savior?"

"So, you're saying these people are going to die?" Snow asks, and Doc looks just as equally upset.

"I'm sorry. Really, I am, but these people," Regina motions toward them. "The only thing I can do is help reduce some of their pain, but I can't stop it. If they have family, yes, by all means, bring them in here and let them try. But this curse, it will drag the infected into a deep sleep, and once those black veins reach their hearts, well, there's no waking up from that."

Snow's bottom lip trembles, and she nods her head, looking around. Some of these people she recognizes from Storybrooke. Sebastian, the Baker's daughter, Tom Thumb, and a few Merry Men. And then a few others she doesn't know, and her heart breaks for them.

Regina crouches on her knees over a woman whose name she doesn't remember. She can't heal her, but she can use a spell to numb her pain before Grim claims her as one of his victims. She rests her hands on her brow and above her chest, chanting elvish. Sweat begins to drip down the sides of Regina's face. The humidity in this room is unforgiving, and she struggles to push herself up and off the ground as she senses wisps of her magic licking the air.

That's one. Fourteen more to go.

She tirelessly works to place her hands on people, recalling the tattered edge of a particular page in Rumple's spell book that taught her the tools for this spell. She moves from one person to the next and files their relief and gratitude away to a place separate from all her bad memories. Away from the morning after she watched as her mother crushed Daniel's heart. Separate from her first night with Leopold as tears streamed down her cheeks and her heart begged to be snuffed out. She hoards them away from the night she killed her father, away from all the bad. And she wishes, she wishes she could save them all. But it's simply beyond her control.

One of the Merry Men, Troy is next. Snow sits beside him, tears sting at the edges of her eyes as she looks from Troy to Regina, and it's not lost on Regina how much has changed.

It pains her to think about the baby-faced little girl she quickly fell in love with on that hill long ago, and then just as quickly hated with misplaced anger and blame. She hates her still, only now she has begun to realize she also hates and blames herself.

"Thank you," Snow says before grabbing hold of Regina's wrist, which prevents her from moving onto the last two people still afflicted by dark magic. "I know you didn't have to help them or give them peace in a moment otherwise marred by death. And I just, I'm really grateful."

Regina smiles weakly and wavers on her feet, closing her eyes for a moment as Snow steadies her, one hand underneath her elbow.

"Regina, you look tired. You need to rest."

Regina places her hand on Snow's and gently moves it away, shaking her head.

"I'm not finished," she says and stands, her legs a little shaky, and it's then the ache makes itself known. Her head rages inside her skull and everything hurts. She's exhausted and it shows, but she'll rest after she's given them all a magical sedative. Pressing her fingers to her right temple, she massages briefly and keeps going.

Ten minutes later, she makes her way back to the room she shares with her new family, expecting to collapse into bed and snuggle close to Robin. She's a few steps away when she hears Roland's whimpering cries and rushes forward, throwing the door open with a wave of her hand, the scene she imagined coming back to is drastically different. She wastes no time in throwing herself on the ground next to the sobbing five-year-old, sitting on the floor in a heap with his head on his papa's chest.

"Roland, honey," Regina calmly starts, rubbing his face and leaning forward so she can look at Robin and make sure he's still breathing. She presses two fingers to the side of his neck and feels a reassuring but weak rhythm there.

Roland meets her eyes and mimics her distraught gaze. "He just fell, Gina. Just fell," his lower lip trembles. "I'm scared," he says, hiccupping. "He's hot. Papa's hot. And I can't waked him up."

Her eyes well up with tears and one lone drop slips down her cheek. "It's okay, sweetheart. Your papa is going to be just fine," she says with a broken smile on her face. It turns into a grimace when her cool fingertips come in contact with Robin's face. He's burning up. She carefully moves him so his head rests in her lap and reaches out to pull up the end of his tunic. Her hands shakes, because she's afraid to look, afraid that she sees those horrifying black veins inching their way up his chest. She swallows the saliva pooling in her mouth and reveals what her heart and her gut already knew.

Tears flow freely now, and she looks up at Roland with pain in her eyes.

"Roland, I need you to go get Little John. Can you do that for me? I need him to help your papa."

"Gina, I don't wanna go," he says, looking at her with the most heart-wrenching expression for a five-year-old.

"I know, sweetheart. But I need you to be my brave, little knight. I need you're help."

He looks at her and then looks at his papa, still unconscious on the ground. He nods and gets up on his tiny legs, he stares at both of the adults on the floor, and then runs as fast his small feet will carry him.

Regina's eyes fall back on the face of her thief, she combs her fingers through his damp, sweaty hair.

"You can't go," she whispers, "You promised you wouldn't leave." She doesn't have control over her tears anymore, her walls and barriers are all broken and crumbled on the ground. He did this to her, he opened her up and showed her light and happiness; he's the reason she's sobbing and shaking. Regina heaves his heavyweight up a little higher, cradled him in her arms, and even though she knows he's not conscious, Robin naturally draws closer to her warmth and love and burrows into her embrace more deeply.

A strangled cry leaves her lips, and she refuses to lose him, wishing for more time, begging and pleading for more time, more of him, more of his love, more of his warm, kind eyes as he looks at her, sees her for who she really is, who she really wants to be. She wishes she could pull the sickness and black and mar from her precious thief and into herself.

Her soulmate.

The epiphany shocks and soothes her at the same time, but she doesn't have the luxury to think on it any further.

Instead, Regina thinks of Robin, she thinks of Henry, she thinks of Roland. She thinks of their belief in her. She thinks of their love, uses it as fuel, and remembers the night she decided to keep her Little Prince.

They cuddle up in the middle of her big bed. He cooes and grips tightly on her pointer finger. Regina's eyes are glassy. She smiles down at the tiny baby next to her, as a few tears glisten and threaten to pour out, overwhelmed by how much she loves him. A sudden sob escapes her mouth, and she is terrified of what ifs and maybes, but, more than anything, she is terrified of what she could lose. It has been years since anything or anyone has been able to find their way into her black heart, years since she's cared or selflessly loved someone, and, in a matter of seconds, Henry has become her everything.

Regina thinks of the first time Henry called her mama, riding bareback on Rocinante, falling in love for the first time, making love to Robin under the branches of a Willow tree, and bedtime stories with Roland. She thinks of her love for them and focuses on drawing out the darkness.

Regina leans down, kisses Robin on his forehead, and a wave of light steals her breath just as Granny and Little John come running into the room. Roland in Little John's arms. She's focusing so intently on Robin that she doesn't notice them, but she does feel it when the pounding in her head becomes excruciating, when her muscles tense and dizziness starts to sink in, and she feels quite close to vomiting.

A small trickle of red that eases its way out her nose, and Granny's eyes go wide in shock.

"Girl!" she shouts in alarm and moves to wipe the blood away, but the magic coming off Regina repels her backward. It's thick and rolling in purple clouds around her and Robin, easing out between the cracks in her fingers. If Granny wasn't so terrified, it'd be a sight to behold, but she's torn as it is between forcing Regina to stop and letting her magic do what it wants.

Regina's arms feel weighed down now, and she adjusts them so Robin is tucked into her as close as possible. She brushes her lips over his fevered, clammy forehead, her eyes rapidly move behind her eyelids, and she trembles slightly, but she refuses to let go. She feels her magic rolling within her, around her and over Robin. She feels electricity wherever her skin touches his skin, and she keeps drawing the darkness away from him, doesn't know how or why this is possible, but she doesn't care.

She feels Robin on the edge, Death wraps its spindly fingers around him, and she angrily pushes back, and, just as she thinks her body can take no more, just as she thinks she's going to collapse, Death recedes and Robin takes in a deep, clear breath and jolts with a start.

He'd been so close to being lost, but she'd anchored him back into the light. Her eyes fly open and it takes everything in her not to put as much distance between herself and her family as possible, the darkness now fighting within her. She blinks a few times and a harsher wave of dizziness sweeps over her. Little John notices kneels down to lift his leader away from her.

"Papa!" Roland shouts, both his hands on his father's face. "Papa, wake up!" His expression animated. "Gina made you all better. Wake up."

Robin blinks tiredly and tries to focus on his son's voice.

"What happened?" He groans and John helps him sit up.

Regina moves to stand. She needs air. She needs light and sunshine and room to breathe.

"Granny, I have to …" She stops and tries to find her balance as she missteps to the right, leaning on the back of her lounge chair.

"Regina?" Granny frowns and steps toward her.

Regina waves her hand at the old woman. "I need…" She turns on shaky legs, stumbles toward where she knows she'll be able to breath again, and strains to push the door open and out into the hallway. She needs to get outside, needs to make it to the courtyard.

Granny follows her outside.

She stumbles down the corridor and weakly pushes the main door open so she can get out of the claustrophobic castle and into the fresh air. Regina takes a labored breath. She sees black spots dance across her vision. Her heart races, and she holds one hand over her stomach, muscles spasming while touching the back of her other hand over her mouth. She feels sick. Regina blinks a few more times and looks up into the dark clouds, into the sun, before the world spins, her body follows and everything goes to black as she falls into a heap on cobble-stoned walkway.

If her eyes had stayed open, Regina would've seen the silver light rippling off her in waves.

* * *

Regina wakes to Granny dabbing her clammy brow with a cool cloth. She's back in their room, buried beneath furs and blankets. Robin slouches over the edge, snoring and breathing heavily, brow creased with worry.

"He's been like that for the last half an hour," Granny says, dipping the cloth in the bowl beside her and wringing it out. "Refused to leave your side unless he was checking on Roland."

Regina moves to sit, but Granny's quicker. She leaves the cloth in the bowl and pushes Regina back into the warmth of the bed.

"Roland's fine. Robin's fine. Resting. Just like you were doing. Now stay down, girl." Granny picks the cloth up again, wrings it out and wipes soothing water and the scent of lavender over Regina's brow and into her hairline. "Or I'll give you the same thing I gave him."

Regina looks back at Robin and lightly runs her fingers through his hair.

"He refused to leave you." Granny shakes her head, her voice stern now. It angers her to think the girl has no sense of self worth or preservation.

"You shouldn't have tried to heal him. That was foolish, trying to break the Living Death curse. Took too much from you." Then Granny narrows her eyes and tilts her head down so her glasses slide to the brim of her nose. "Especially because of the baby."

Regina's eyes widen, and she shakes her head in confusion. "No, I'm not–"

"You are," Granny states, tapping her nose. "Trust me, a wolf knows."

"But I … but we …" Regina looks down at her flat stomach and gently, cautiously places a hand there. "Granny, I can't have children. I … Leopold wanted them, but I cast a spell. It couldn't be undone. There's no way I could be … pregnant."

"Hmm, well, it seems to me that you also shouldn't have been able to break that curse on Robin, but you did. So I'd say that whatever the two of you have is much more powerful than some little curse or spell. Are you the one who told Snow that True Love is the most powerful magic of all."

Regina contemplates the old wolf's words and subconsciously rubs her thumb over the fabric of her dress below her belly button. She glances at Robin again.

"He won't wake," Granny says with a gruff, taking the cloth and dropping it back into the bowl. She proceeds to fill a wooden cup with water and brings it to Regina's lips. "He refused to leave you. Would only step out to check on Roland. You're both so foolishly stubborn. Not bothering to take care of yourselves even though your bodies are shouting at you to slow down." Granny shakes her head again, places the cup on the table beside her, and stares hard into Regina's eyes.

"How long have I been out?" Regina asks.

"Three days. He wouldn't go to sleep." Granny stands and pulls a small bundle of herbs out of her apron pocket, thumbing the corner of the paper packet. Regina recognizes it as milk of the poppy. "So I drugged him."

Disclaimer: not mine


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Thank you again for reading and for sticking with this story. I hope you like this new update. As always let me know what you think. Love hearing from you - good or bad. :) XOXO, Jess

* * *

_Fear and New Hope_

It is late in the day when Robin finally rises, when his drug laden sleep lifts and allows him to move. Starts in his fingers, a little twitch, a bend or two of his knuckles. He arches his back, slowly tick, tick, ticking awake, body edging away from his induced coma and into the land of the living. Groaning, scrunched up face, blindly patting the furs and heavy blanket, searching and drawing nearer to his goal.

Until, aw, there she is, there is her warmth. He runs his palm over the back of her hand, gently traces flesh with flesh. He laces their fingers together and gives a small, short squeeze.

He blinks.

Vision hazy.

Cloudy.

Pained.

A harsh invasion of light.

And then it clears, and he hones in on her face, her eyes closed. No movement still, just the easy rise and fall of her chest, lips parted and moist, paleness gone, no ash remains, a shade of rose colors her cheeks. Alive and breathing, and that is where she will stay. He refuses any other option.

Reaching up, he brushes a wisp of hair off of her brow and lets the pad of his thumb track across her temple. Her skin is not as clammy as it was days before, and the circles under her eyes are not as deep. John told him what happened, said they were still searching for the person or persons responsible for poisoning them, attempting to cast a curse and wipe out their company, but it seems the fates have not favored their efforts.

He vaguely remembers being weak, dragging his legs back to their room after a warm meal so he and Roland could gather their things for a picnic with Regina. His lad skipped the bland looking porridge, opted for a bit of bread and jam instead, and for that he is an eternally grateful father, does not want to imagine his son experiencing the same agony he felt as a suffocating fog quickly built in his lungs.

Only moments after packing a few necessities, a thick, black tar oozed through his veins. He was overcome by a drowning sensation and collapsed, tried to grab onto the bed post for support, but it was no use. Soon he crashed hard on his knees, Roland screaming "Papa! Papa!" Tiny fists tugging at his sleeve. Panic filled him, made his eyes widen wildly. A thrumming, a ringing, a high-pitched siren call in his ear.

And then, he remembers only flashes. A soft tickle across his face as Regina's hair fell around him, nimble arms hoisting him up, a few wet drops splashing onto his cheeks.

Tears.

Not his.

They seeped into his skin, sent tingles rippling through him, and glacially warmth spread back into his limbs. Hands pressed firmly into his chest, whispers of assurance hot on his neck.

Come back to me. You can't go. You promised you wouldn't leave.

A sensation, sharp and searing, like a jolt of lightning coursed through his body. Its point of entry at his brow, where her trembling lips connected with his skin. And it was like he was a new babe, taking a harsh inhale of breath for the first time, opening his eyes to crispness and a spectacle of light - intense, confounding, a whirlpool of spots and color behind his eyelids.

She saved him from darkness, anchored him back to grass and dirt and air, burned up the black pitch trying greedily to replace his blood with a vile toxin. She found him wandering aimlessly through shadow, held onto his hand, pulled and made him to follow, and he stared at her, took in her ethereal form. She was breathtaking, stunning in every way - a fantasy, his savior, a lady in white sent to ground and tether him to a place where corporeal beings could not spirit through time and space without purpose.

She chased away Death's steel grip, and he awoke, her lips quaking on his brow, a wave of light and magic shaking him to the core.

When he really opened his eyes, finally took in the room around him, she was gone. The door slamming shut behind her hurried and awkward steps. John helped him stand on unsteady feet, and Roland hugged his knee. A few reassuring words to his boy, and he stumbled after her into the hall, used the stone wall as support, and trudged until his balance returned somewhat. By the time feeling and control set into his stride, he was pushing open the front castle doors to a sight that seized his heart and stole his breath yet again.

Regina.

A crumpled heap on the ground.

Regina.

Unconscious and unmoving like the dead.

Regina.

Body surrounded by an undulating, silvery light.

A buzzing thrum, thrum, thrumming in his ears.

Granny cradled Regina's head in her lap, swept sweat drenched strands of hair away from her gray, ashen face, and barked at him to help her carry the poor girl to their room. He bent and lifted her easily, Regina weighing nearly nothing in his arms. He carefully laid her down in their bed, and she looked dwarfed within their sheets, presence fading in and out, fragile and unlike the woman with a malevolent reputation, not as indestructible or immune to harm. She is just like the rest of them, skin and bones that can easily break.

He sat in vigil at her bedside for 48 hours, only moving to check on Roland or answer nature's call. Sleep did not come and rest would not sweep his eyes. Or at least it would not until Granny slipped powdered milk of the poppy into his tea, and he was forcefully knocked unconscious.

Stretching his neck, he pops his back, and drags one hand over his face, wiping drool from his mouth and crusty bits out of the corners of his eyes. How long has he been asleep? His head pounds, and he feels unnaturally sluggish like a Sasquatch.

Robin pushes away the last bit of haze and leans forward, about to card his hand through her hair, when a voice just behind him says, "You'll wake her if you keep fussing like that." It startles him, and he moves his head too quickly and groans as the pounding increases.

Granny. She stares at him, only a few feet away and to his left.

"Why do I have this headache?" He complains and follows her omitted request by reclining back into his chair. "I feel like tankards are clinking in my head."

The wolf smiles, a little unenthralled thing and in a tone that reminds him of being chastised by his mother, she commands, "Stop whining like a mule. You're still alive. I only drugged you. Now let her sleep, she needs to rest."

Robin's gaze travels from Granny to Regina and stays there, taking in every soft rise and fall of her chest, wondering, "When is she going to wake?"

Granny huffs, places her hand on his shoulder and states, "Dark magic isn't something to be trifled with, even for someone as powerful and as familiar with darkness as Regina. She'll wake when her body is good and ready." She pats him on the back, thinks of the small babe growing beneath layers of muscle and flesh inside the sleeping Queen, a child the Archer has yet to be told about and continues, "I'll watch her for a while, but you need to look in on your boy. He's asking to see her."

He nods, stretches his tense muscles again, and his body groans when he eases his way out of the chair. "I'll bring him here. I understand wanting to be near her." His gaze lingers on Regina and then he's moving toward the door.

Granny pauses him with her hand on his wrist. "She's the strongest person I know. Don't worry too much. We wouldn't want that pretty face of yours to be permanently set in a frown."

He grins and for a moment anxiousness and fear aren't the only emotions at the forefront of his mind.

* * *

When Regina flutters her eyes open and begins to stir, beams of sunshine flicker through mosaic windows as the sun slowly journeys across its set path. She groans as she tries to roll on her side - limbs achy and cramped from not moving for so long. She is a little bit dizzy, and hungry, and what she wouldn't give for a bath - to rid herself of the thin layer grim on her skin, to feel clean and more like the woman who prefers designer dresses, tailored trousers and lace lingerie to capes and smallclothes and corsets (even if they do make her breasts that much more voluptuous).

But clothes don't really matter anymore, do they? Not when dizziness is making her moan and grip tightly to the blanket keeping the chill away, not when her vertigo isn't cooperating. Not when she knows that her body complains for only one reason.

She feathers against it easily now, now that she knows it is there. No effort needed, just her palm on her flat but taut abdomen - a little pulse of energy within. Closing her eyes, she sighs with relief, and a sob escapes her throat.

Pregnant.

A baby.

She laughs quietly, and it's a beautiful sound, but then it changes, becomes broken and sad, because she is having a baby. A baby nestled safe inside her, inside a place that she previously cursed. A baby that shouldn't be possible. A baby with her soulmate, and her son - her little prince - still does not know who she is. He's in New York where she put him, memories wiped, new life given, his well-being entrusted to the care of Ms. Swan.

A baby. A baby is supposed to be joyous, a cause for celebration, but it's hard to stay happy and joyful for long, not with her Henry so far out of reach. Now when all she can think about at this moment is that she couldn't protect the ones that came before.

The one that made itself known just weeks after that night in her consummation bed, weeks after her coronation. She was pregnant just long enough for the bump to start showing, for her to feel first flutters, and then just as Daniel was ripped away from her, so was that new, tiny glimmer of hope. Symptoms for the next one didn't appear until a season came and went, and she tried very hard not to get attached, not to think about the future, because her life so far showed her that hers was only filled with death and destruction. So when she was crippled by an agonizing pain low in her belly just ten days after finding out she was pregnant yet again, she wasn't surprised at the loss.

Devastated. But not surprised.

One more after that, and that time she was surprised, because she'd been further along, further than both times before. Far enough that her dresses were taken out, that Leopold and Snow dotted and sent her gifts, really gifts for the baby, and she foolishly let herself think for just a moment that this might be it, this might be her happy ending. If she never loved again, if this baby was all that she had, she'd love it, and that would be enough for her.

But as is the story of her life, just as things seemed to be starting over, just as she starting hoping and planning, it all burned to the ground in seconds.

That third time was the last miscarriage, the last time she woke to blood pooling between her thighs, the last time her body rejected a chance at a happy ending. She scrolled through her mother's spell book, looking for anything to prevent her from ever having to experience the physical and emotional torture of her hostile womb.

She sniffles, keeps her eyes closed, and then feels the mattress shift behind her.

A warm hand comes to rest on hers, she angles her head toward the connection, and a smile breaks out on her face. His hand is pleasant and comforting against hers, reassuring and triumphant. An anchor, a testament to her finally achieving a victory.

She won.

She brought him back.

"Regina?" Robin says. His voice cracks, he clears his throat, and then her favorite dimple-cheeked toddler is jumping on her bed.

"Gina! Gina!" Roland shouts and just before he's about to pounce on her in his glee, his papa scoops him up.

"Ah, no, you don't, my boy," he grunts, lifting him away and propping him up on his arm. "No jumping on Regina. We must be gentle, remember?"

That choice of words catches her attention.

Does he know?

"She's still recovering from that nasty curse, and we wouldn't want to be too rough while she's getting better, now would we?"

Roland's eyes widen, he shakes his little head, his curls fanning out. "No, Papa. Gina has an owie."

"And what do we do with owies?" Robin asks, tapping his four-year-old on the nose.

The lad giggles and says, "We kiss and make them better."

"We kiss and make them better," Robin repeats, his gaze traveling back to Regina.

She smiles and says, "Hi." Voice a little bit hoarse; tears welling in her eyes. A warmth grows low in her belly, watching father and son interact, both of them grinning down at her, matching dimples at the corners of their mouths.

Relief floods her.

He's alive.

They're both alive, she reminds herself.

Everything is fine.

And then she feels that little pulse of energy again.

Yes, I know you're there, too.

Oh God.

She's pregnant. They're pregnant.

How is she going to tell him?

A heavy dread comes and goes, ebbs like a tide trying so desperately hard to drown her, but she will not let it, cannot let it, not now, not with this life growing inside her womb, not when there's still a chance she could lose it.

She tries not to think about that. Tries instead to focus on the good.

What would Henry say?

Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

Skin stitching together, heart beating, ears and eyes forming, warm and glowing and innocent. Her grip tightens on the fabric of her dress, and she focuses on that pulse of energy she felt before. There's something new, something she has not had in a very long time. She feels it already, the baby's magic mingling with hers - white and pure and powerful and unfamiliar and all together lovely.

This time will be different.

* * *

Regina, Robin and Roland venture down to the Great Hall together for supper, when she finally has the strength to get out of bed. And the way people stare at them as they pass through the threshold jars her. She's used to people staring at her by now, of course, has spent decades with peasants cowering before her, knights sneering at her. She's seen pity, anger, disgust, shame, embarrassment, pain reflected back at her, but these stares are different, and they make her a little uneasy. Because in their eyes she sees… what?

Admiration? Gratitude? Kindness? Concern?

Things she's only ever received from a select few - from Snow on more occasions than she can count; from Robin since the night they met in the woods; from her son… The list is growing, she realizes.

Much and Little John walk over to them first.

"Your Majesty," Much begins, gives a little bow. She rolls her eyes at his gestures, and he smirks before "Glad to see you're feeling better."

John clears his throat and adds, "Thank you for what you did." He and Robin look at each other for a moment, and then he keeps going with "You've changed. You're not the monst- the woman I thought you were, and for as long as I breathe, I'm indebted to you for saving my friend."

"I really don't think that's nec-" She tries, but he cuts her off before she can finish her sentence.

"Robin and Roland are family. And you saved our littlest Merry Man from having to grow up without his papa. That deserves respect and gratitude."

This isn't the welcome she'd been expecting, and at a loss for words the only thing she can offer in return is a smile and a nod.

Much bellows a laugh, drawing the gaze of a few others who are enjoying rabbit stew, potatoes and carrots. "Well, mate, it seems we've done our job. Rendered the Queen speechless. I'd say that's probably a first."

Regina quirks a brow at the man she's come close to considering a friend or at the very least an alley over the last few months. And then her stomach grumbles, and it reminds her of why she left the comfort of her room in the first place. On instinct, she moves her palm to rest on her abdomen, and then notices Much squint at her in response. She quickly lets her hand fall to her side and ruffles Roland's mop of curls.

Robin thankfully didn't notice her small slip up.

She's quiet throughout dinner, picking slowly at her stew, giggling every so often when Roland makes a face at her or tells her about what she missed while she was asleep.

He tells her about playing in her garden with Tuck and Alan, tells her that the Merry Men aren't as good at hide-and-go-seek as she is. His tales make her smile, her eyes glisten, and Robin can't stop looking at her, taking her in throughout the course of their meal. She's introspective, and a line creases on her brow. He knows she's trying quite hard to school her features so her thoughts aren't given away, but he's been able to read her rather easily since they met. And something is definitely bothering her.

After supper, they play with Roland for a bit, read him a few bedtime stories until he's yawning in Regina's lap. Robin picks up his boy, and the three of them walk back to their room. He stops her just outside their door, Roland asleep on his shoulder.

"Regina, what is it?" He asks. Not able to go another minute without finding out what troubles her, what has her looking worried or anxious or maybe both. She fidgets with her hands and it makes him nervous.

She sighs, grins up at him, welling tears renewed, and cups his cheek.

Rubbing her thumb along the stubble on his jaw, she replies, "Let's put Roland to bed first," and he makes to protest, but she finishes with "Then we can go for a walk outside, and I promise I'll tell you what's going on."

Okay. Yes. He can agree to that.

A half-hour later, they're walking through the gardens, circling her apple tree, his arm around her, her head leaning against his shoulder.

"Normally I'm quite a patient man, but I have to say your silence is testing me, love."

A grin breaks out on her face, and she guides him over to the bench overlooking the valley below. They sit, and he pulls her closer to him, chasing away winter's chill.

"Are you alright? Doc said that there wasn't anything to worry about. Was he wrong?"

"No, I'm fine," she replies, placing her hand against his chest.

God. Why is this so hard? Why can't she just say it?

She chuckles and it's not exactly the response that Robin was anticipating. He frowns at her, and her expression softens. The smile on her face the most genuine he has seen since they baked in the kitchen with Roland almost a week ago.

Okay, now or never. She just needs to say it.

"I'm pregnant."

His heart stops for one beat then two. His eyes dart to her stomach, he reaches out, tentatively laces his fingers with hers, rubs his thumb over her knuckles, and then looks up at her.

His crystal blues meeting her rich browns. A smile tugging at his lips.

_Oh_.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own them.


	11. Chapter 11

AMENDMENT - Sorry for the confusion, you guys. This story is no longer a prequel to "All a Matter of Time." It's a multi-fic piece in the TIB-verse.

AN: Sorry it's been so long you guys. Life got business. And I have no other excuses. I sat on this for too long. Apologies. Special thank you to Tina for reading a few of these sections and listening to me complain about Robin's backstory and the end of this chapter. I cut it short, because this seemed like the perfect ending, and the next chapter is going to be intense. Another special thank you to Hayley ( htoria on tumblr and twitter) for giving me feedback on some of the internal emotions, making sure Regina is still in character for TIB. I struggled with this one you guys. I hope you like it. :) XO, Jess

P.S. This chapter is why this story is rated M. You've been warned. ;)

* * *

_For Love and a Glass Vial_

Nearly a week after Regina recovered from breaking the curse of Living Death on Robin, the two of them gather in the council chambers to discuss current affairs. The meeting isn't as productive as she would like it to be, Leroy argues and throws barbs her way, at least he's still treating her normally (and he doesn't even know about the baby). That's more than she can say for Robin, who hasn't stopped doting on her since she told him the news.

David's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. "We know it's not much to go on, but we found that," he points to the small glass vial held between her thumb and forefinger, "in one of the basement corridors. Whoever poisoned the morning meal must have dropped it in their haste to flee the castle grounds."

Regina spins the empty vial, gaze fixated on it as Snow asks, "Is that enough, Regina? Can you figure out who did this?"

The Queen looks up, meets her questioning eyes and shakes her head. "Too much time has passed for me to determine who brought this into the castle, but …" Regina smiles, a glint of something a little darker in her eyes, "it can lead us to them."

"What's the difference, sister?" Leroy inquires, leaning forward in his chair.

Regina rolls her eyes at him. "Each potion has a unique signature, like a fingerprint left behind by its caster, and although I highly doubt the sorcerer or sorceress who created this was the one to actually use it, I can cast a locator spell, and it'll take me to the person who whispered the final enchantment to enact it. Everything I need is in my vault."

"Why do you think it's someone else and not the," David waves his hand in the air, "sorcerer or sorceress?"

Regina sighs. Does she really need to explain miniscule details to these people?

Her fellow council members just stare at her, waiting for an answer.

Yes, she supposes she does.

"Because this particular curse requires blood," she says, hoping that'll suffice. It doesn't, so she continues, "And there's nothing more valuable to …" she thinks about what she's going to say next.

But the Blue Fairy beats her to it.

"Someone like you. There's nothing more valuable to someone like you – a witch – than her own blood. Isn't that right, your majesty?"

Regina clenches her teeth, and Blue's tone doesn't go unnoticed by Robin. Or Granny for that matter. "Living Death is blood magic, and it's dark, and powerful, and it takes a specific amount time and effort. The ingredients are hard to come by. Whoever brewed this wouldn't have been so foolish as to be caught. If the witch," Regina glares at the annoying fairy, "was the one who snuck into the castle, we wouldn't have just buried 15 people last week. We'd all be dead."

Robin grips her hand under the table. This is turning out to be much more serious than he originally thought.

"We can be ready to go as soon as possible," David says.

"That's not necessary," Regina counters and goes to explain. Robin tenses. She feels it in his fingers as they tighten and lace more securely with hers. "The person that did this was an amatuer at best. They won't require an armada."

"You're not going alone," David argues, sounding alarmed that she thought she would in the first place.

"Hold your horses, David, that's not what I meant,"

"I planned to make a much needed supply run today," Robin cuts in. "You can perform the spell, and then John, Much, Tuck and I will track whoever this fiend is and report back."

The look he gives her makes clear what his words left unspoken.

You're staying here.

The hell she is.

"It doesn't work like that," she shakes her head and purses her lips, because he's not doing this, he's not using the baby – the one they're still keeping a secret – as an excuse for her not to go. This is ridiculous, and not nearly the most dangerous thing she's ever done, she saved him from a curse for fuck's sake, and she'd been pregnant then and not known, and nothing happened. Well, that's not entirely true, she'd been unconscious for days, but she's fine and so is their child growing in her womb. "I can't just conjure you a GPS out of thin air, that says, 'Go this way.'"

His expression hardens, and he thinks, what the fuck is a GPS?

"I have to cast the spell on the vial and then stay near it so my magic can guide us to whoever it is that tried to kill us all in the first place. If I'm not there powering it, the link will be broken, and you won't get very far."

"You can't just sprinkle it on like I did with Jefferson's hat back in Storybrooke and then follow?" David asks.

"No," Regina bites. "I can't. Like I said. This vial didn't likely belong to the person who poisoned everyone. How many times do I have to say it?" She's getting impatient. To her, the plan sounds reasonable enough. She'll cast the spell and go, but obviously Robin isn't convinced, because he's shaking his head back and forth just as adamantly as she'd been just minutes before.

He crosses his arms and frowns. "I don't think it's a good idea, not when–" but she doesn't let him finish.

Leroy, David and Ruby are all looking at her funny, mouths slightly open, staring in shock as Robin pushes and talks back and disagrees with her unabashedly. Blue isn't at all amused.

Snow's just smiling to herself. These two are so obvious, it has her biting her tongue, trying so unbelievably hard not to laugh.

"Robin–" Regina warns. Snow snickers, and she freezes realizing the sound that's just left her lips. Regina shoots her a quick death glare, and all of a sudden she feels quite like a young girl again being reprimanded by her stepmother.

Thankfully, Robin takes the attention off of her.

"Regina–" He begins, but Granny pipes up.

"Alright, you two," the old wolf says and then utters something that has Regina blushing equally in anger and embarrassment. "Take your lover's quarrel outside. But first, Regina, you may be fine with taking your chances alone, but we're not. He and the Merry Men are going."

And that's that. For now, anyways.

* * *

Regina doesn't talk to Robin for a while after that. She's silent and broods and holds onto her anger, ignoring him for most of the day. But like usual, she's unable to stay angry with him for long. He gets her to smile at him again come later that evening, and then they're back to their usual banter.

An hour or so before bed, Roland asks them if he can spend the night with Much, Little John and the rest of the Merry Men. He's been sleeping with them in their bed. Tucked between the two of them, fingers fisted in the front of Regina's nightclothes, thumb being sucked in his mouth, his little legs uncomfortably jabbing into his papa's side as he tossed and turned in slumberland. Roland hasn't wanted to leave either of their sides since they both woke up from their mini comas. He was afraid of what might happen if he did, but they've showed him that everything is going to be alright, that they're a family, and families protect each other.

"Always?" He asked, and "Always," they replied and let him stay with them for as long as he liked. Regina cringed just slightly as soon as the word left her mouth. Snow and David's favorite term of endearment used to make her want to vomit, but her perspective has changed, and, well, she sees it for what it is – a promise, and she has every intention of never breaking it.

Regina and Robin never have issue with Roland wanting to sleep in between them, cuddled up, safe and warm. He's more than welcome, unless of course on nights like tonight, the tiny toddler doesn't want to sleep with them, wants to spend time with the Merry Men instead.

Then … well, they don't have qualms with that either.

None.

Whatsoever.

They walk with Roland to the west wing where Robin's men have been "camping" and watch as the little boy skitters to a halt in front of Little John. He misses his uncles and bedtime stories and the games he plays with Tuck and Much, fighting against imaginary beasts and sorceresses that transform into dragons.

Once upon a time, Much regaled Roland with a recount of the time they snuck into Maleficent's castle, and the littlest outlaw hasn't quite forgotten the eye-popping tale. He loves stomping through the forest (now the castle corridors), pretending to be the great, fearsome, fire-breathing creature, while the Merry Men – and usually his papa – chase after him, wielding make-believe bows and arrows.

But tonight, tonight his papa is a little preoccupied with the thought of alone time with her majesty for the first time in over a week, and make-believe and a campout don't quite have the same appeal as they did months ago.

"Papa, are you going to stay and play?" Roland asks in the sweetest voice Regina thinks she's ever heard.

The kid knows how to lay it on thick. She'll give him that. Bats his long lashes and smiles until his dimples deeply intent his cheeks.

God, he's adorable – all curls and charm and cuteness – and she wonders, even if it is for just a moment, if the baby will be like him, like her little knight.

Robin bends down to his son's eye level, ruffles his curls and says, "Not tonight, my boy," and at his toddler's pouting lips, he adds, "But what if tomorrow, we go on an adventure and then read bedtime stories by the fire?"

Roland beams and nods his head vigorously. "Yes, please, Papa!" He shouts and claps his little hands together. "'Venture like in Sherwood!"

The father laughs at his son's jubilation, and Regina smiles. "Just like that, Sweetheart. I can show you and your papa my gardens after breakfast. A labyrinth made of hedges and secret passageways. It'll be our special place. How does that sound?"

She can cast the locator spell after that.

"Our special place?" His eyes grow big and then he beams and says, "Yes, please!" again. Closing the gap between them, he jumps up toward her arms unexpectedly.

She lets out a surprised, "Omph" and grips him more tightly, lifts him up and props him on her hip. Robin looks a bit alarmed at first, but Regina scowls at him and waves away his concerns.

She's pregnant, not an invalid, and other than Granny, they agreed not to tell anyone. Not until enough time passes that she's not constantly worried about carrying to term. Not with her history. Not with a crazy, long lost sister hell bent on revenge. Not with an enemy in their midst trying to poison them.

So she'll hold Roland, whenever and wherever she wants. She'll brush away Robin's fussing and maybe give him a soft, little glare, because she doesn't want that fussing to draw attention.

Her expanding stomach will do that soon enough.

Robin snakes his arm around her waist and his thumb subconsciously rubs circles over the fabric of her dress just above her hip. It's the closest he can get without being too suspicious, and it's also quite a bit more PDA than she's used to, but she doesn't really seem to mind all that much, and that thought sort of surprises her as well, because she's still trying to figure out when Robin Hood, the Prince of Thieves, notorious outlaw, weaseled his way into her heart, past her defenses and through her impenetrable (or not so impenetrable) wall.

When did this – what they have – become more than just pixie dust or a lion tattoo? When did it grow beyond the prophesied nonsense of a fairy? She's been asking herself that a lot since she met him. Feels like she questions at least once a week, but it's only because she's still baffled.

Because she didn't know it was him, didn't know that the man aiming an arrow at her, in the woods all those mornings ago, was her soulmate. Didn't know that he was the man from the tavern all those years ago, when their eyes first connected under the light of the moon after midnight. Didn't know that he was her second chance at happiness when she started to fall in love with his dimple-cheeked boy, his smug smirk, and him in general.

She didn't know.

And she supposes it doesn't matter, because she did fall in love with him – is very much in love with him.

That means something, doesn't it? That she fell for him without knowing that he was the perfect match that Tinkerbell prophesied.

Roland nuzzles into the side of her neck and whispers, "Goodnight, my majesty" into her ear. It sends a flutter through her that warms her heart and brings tears to her eyes.

"Goodnight, my little knight," she says in a hushed tone, so hushed in fact that no one else can hear her words.

They're just for him.

When she sets him down on the ground and he scampers off, Robin's hand finds better purchase on her hip, his fingers still playing with the fabric of her dress. He hasn't stopped touching her like this, whether in public or in private. Although, in private he's much more open about what he's really doing.

Checking on her, making sure she's still here, that everything's alright, her and the baby, that they're both real, and fine, and healthy, and standing right next to him.

It takes physical contact to reassure him, hands held together, their foreheads touching in a quiet, morning greeting, their lips stealing languid kisses out of sight.

During daylight, if they're sitting around the council table discussing strategy or defense with Snow and her Charming and their inner circle, it's easier for Robin to sneak his hand under the table and onto Regina's thigh or lace his fingers with hers.

When they're in the Great Hall or walking down busy corridors, he has to be content with the side of their palms lightly brushing up against each other as they walk in tandem, because it's only when they're around Granny, Snow, David or the Merry Men that she lets him display public affection so openly.

He isn't complaining. He knows she finds this challenging – being open and vulnerable.

He's constantly reminding her, we're in this together, but it isn't just the open affection.

She's still getting use to the idea of someone loving her so freely.

By choice.

Without wanting anything from her in return.

In public, he follows her lead. But in private, he challenges her, offers her the comfort and reassurance he knows she really craves but is afraid to give into when they're not in their own quarters.

In private, they might not have had the opportunity to be intimate (in the way that they've been craving) with a toddler sleeping between them, but that didn't prevent Robin from tenderly caressing Regina's bare stomach in the dead of night by candle light. Her nightgown bunched to just below her breasts, her creamy skin glowing as flame flickered, his palm warm on her skin, just over the spot where life stitches and forms beneath flesh and muscles.

Safe.

Growing.

A rush of cells coming together.

Half him and half her.

Theirs.

It's early, too early to really know yet, to sense anything other than the small energy thrumming in her womb. But Regina still wonders about the baby, hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since Granny revealed something she should've already known or at least suspected.

She remembers what it was like to be pregnant before. The physical signs – constant fatigue, annoying nausea and tender breasts. But she also remembers the emotions – the unending worry, bouts of elation, the overwhelming urge to cry (although she's never had an issue with shedding tears, always a little too in tune with her emotional state of being, even when it isn't healthy).

Between fighting against a horde of flying monkeys, discovering that her family is more complicated and dysfunctional than she originally thought, trying to figure out what Zelena is planning, and breaking Robin's unbreakable curse, she didn't have time to pause and take in the way her body was changing. Like usual, she neglected to care for herself, to pay attention to her lack of a period, uneasy vertigo over the last few days, and pounding headaches that started as twinges at the base of her skull and migrated toward her temples.

Those are her signs, her body's tell, the first indications of life before it's visible and undeniable and clear in the slight curve of her stomach.

Regina's mind is still reeling by the time she and Robin arrive back at their room. She pushes open the door with a flick of her wrist and collapses on their bed in exhaustion, slipping off her shoes to let them fall on the floor.

She's tense, he knows, has been able to sense it since earlier in the afternoon, so he cautiously asks, "How are you feeling?" sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her, his palm immediately finds the flat of her stomach again, but she pushes it away.

"I'm fine, you asked me that already."

It's not that she's unhappy or upset that he cares. She's elated, but she's also getting a little tired of feeling like she's just an incubator for their baby. She knows Robin doesn't think that, it's a notion that couldn't be farther from the truth. He's not like her late husband, not like Leopold. When Robin looks at her, it's like he's seeing her for the first time – every time. He loves her deeply.

Not just her body.

Not just what she can give him.

He loves her.

But the constant attention on her belly, a belly that still isn't visibly pregnant, well, quite frankly it annoys, and that frustrates her beyond belief, because it brings back memories. Dark, horrid things that she tucked away inside herself long ago. And she's trying to push past them, trying to hold onto the light and not give into her natural instinct to sink deeper and deeper into that pit that houses all of her terrible truths. But Robin has been walking around her like there are egg shells on the ground ever since she told him about the baby, wanting to pick everything up for her, even when the thing she wants to pick up is Roland, and it's making it hard for her to see herself as anything other than that fragile, young queen that Leopold locked away inside her room during her second pregnancy.

A quarantine that didn't last very long in the end.

Another part of her, well that part, is uneasy. It's the part that's echoing hard questions in her head. What if this doesn't last? What if this time is just like the others? What if her body and her magic betray her for a fourth time and this man that she so desperately loves never looks at her with adoration in his eyes again?

"What's wrong, Regina?" Robin asks, pulling her to him, even though she just pushed his hand away. She sighs into his embrace and buries her face in his chest.

"Nothing," she mumbles, moving to sit up, but he stills her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I think you know better than to try and lie to a conman and a thief," he smiles sadly and then says, "You can tell me anything," assuring her, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face. And she knows that, she does. If she's learned anything since saving him from Living Death, it's that they're stronger together. And then there's that feeling in the pit of her gut that's telling her something she didn't think would be possible again.

You love him, be happy. Things are good, be happy. He loves you, be happy. You're healthy, be happy.

But it's hard to be happy, to accept what's right in front of her, because her life, if anything, follows a very strict pattern, and that pattern hasn't wavered yet.

It begins with a spark of hope that sprouts and buds and blossoms into something good, something more, and then, just as it's really starting to flourish, everything burns to ash.

And the rules that apply to everyone else, to the good guys and heroes she's surrounded by don't seem to apply to her too.

Because villains don't get happy endings.

Even when they try.

Even when they do good.

Even when they find their soulmates.

Robin gently cups her cheek and angles her face to look at him, his deep blues drink in her glistening eyes and pained smile. "Love," he affectionately caresses away a tear slipping past her eyelashes. "Regina, please, I don't want you to–" she stops him from speaking, pulls him down and leans up to kiss him.

She's broken. She knows that, has known that for a very long time, just kept filling the hole in her heart with other things, black knights in her bed, manipulation and magic, lots and lots of magic, and Sidney as insane and psychotic as he was, just a puppet she could master, and Graham, and he'd left her in the end. Chosen the Savior instead.

Nothing filled the void, not like Henry, not like her little boy.

He was the only good thing that she ever found after Daniel, something that she finally got right. And now he's gone.

Good washed away.

A few more tears slip past Regina's eyelashes, and she kisses Robin more fiercely. It's desperate, and needy, and sloppy, and a little bit awkward because of how he's sitting, but he fixes that, slips his legs off the bed to stand as she lays back and then he hovers over her, kissing and threading his hands into her hair.

He's between her legs, he's between her legs, and she's whimpering, "I don't want to talk–" she teases his lower lip with her tongue "anymore, okay?" She doesn't. She loves him, and she just wants him to remind her that everything is going to be okay, that she has the capacity to love, and to love freely and deeply, with her heart, body and soul.

She doesn't want to talk, and he doesn't push her, just keeps moving their mouths and letting their tongues dance together.

But he does want to talk, does want her to open up and share what she's thinking. She's struggling with something, and he has this feeling, this really strong, strong feeling that it has to do with him and the baby and Roland, and the fact that she can no longer hide behind her mask and regal clothing, or protect her heart from being hurt again, because it's already open, it's already not her own.

There are pieces of her that belong to Henry, and Snow (even if she's still hard pressed to admit it), and David (the idiot, for making her care), and him (the thief) and his son (her brave little knight). Pieces of her soul that belong to them, because she loves them, and with love comes loss and heartache.

Or at least it does with her.

Doomed.

Fated.

To always lose.

Even when she's making good choices.

Even when she's trying.

And that scares her. Terrifies her.

Her fear isn't what bothers him. That's alright, she's allowed to be scared, that means she's alive. But there's sadness in her eyes, and he just wants her to be happy, even if she thinks it's impossible. She's a pessimist. He knows this about her, and he'll keep telling her that there's brightness in their future until one day she believes him, because he knows that healing her cracks, chasing away her demons won't happen overnight. It might take months or years; they might be old and gray, yes, old and gray, and that doesn't matter, because he's here to stay.

He's not going anywhere.

He'll continue to help her rebuild, to show her she's not damned for all eternity to live in fear of shadow. But for now, for now, he's just going to love and worship her.

Robin breaks his lips from Regina's, when she rocks her hips against him; he groans into her ear. Breath ragged and feral and hot on her neck. He rucks up her skirt to just above her bellybutton and crouches in front of her on both of his knees, her hand gripping tightly to his hair, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, nails scraping against his scalp as he glides his tongue along the inside of her thigh – high, high, higher still.

And then he stops, focus drawn up to her flat, taut stomach. He peppers chaste kisses near her navel. One. Two. Three. Nudging his nose along her skin, breathing her in, picturing the life growing within.

Will it be a boy? Or will it be a girl?

A son. With sandy blonde hair and rich eyes like his mother.

A daughter. With dark brown tresses and crystal blues like her father.

He smiles at the thought of a blue-eyed little girl, rosy apple cheeks, dark curls bouncing as she runs and plays, giggling, and grinning, and gleefully jumping into his arms.

A daughter.

He's sure of it.

The product of soulmates.

Regina groans.

He stopped, his fingers and kisses stopped, and she needs him to keep going, needs him to keep distracting her so her mind doesn't wander back to what ifs. They can talk, be contemplative and quiet later, but now she just needs him.

"Robin," Regina pants and squirms, begging to feel more than just an ache between her legs, nothing rubbing against the very core of her, her sex desperately pulsing for more, throbbing, wanting to find better friction. "It's sweet, it really is … that you're paying that much attention and care to the baby..." she pauses as he licks slowly from navel to hip.

Oh.

He nips.

Fingers teasing at the edge of her smallclothes. Damn, where's a skimpy thong or lingerie when she needs them. His thumb edges under fabric and into coarse curls, swirls and dips into her already slick slit.

Oh. Mmm.

She's getting worked up, he's working her up, making her anxiously anticipate that gloriously delicious moment when he fills her, takes her, makes her cry out and writhe in beautiful agony. "I swear to God–" she grips more tightly to his hair "if you don't get a move on, I'm going to start without you."

That does it.

Someone's not particularly patient today.

He growls against the inside of her thigh, his stubble tickles, sends shivers up her spine. He hikes her skirt higher up, lifts her left leg so it rests on top of his shoulder, places his arm under her right and firmly places his palm below her navel. This position is good. No, it's better, gives him more room, more access, and he wants that, because he's going to make her come, he's going to make her beg for it, until she's writhing and screaming and crying out for release.

"As m'lady wishes," he gruffs just before suddenly dragging his tongue through her drenched folds.

No warning. No more teasing or foreplay or prep. Just his tongue, and heat, and a quiver in her belly as he glides up and then swirls around her clit. Kisses there, blows hot air and suck, suck, sucks.

A sharp inhale of breath, and Regina fists her hands in the sheets beneath her as he says, "Is that–" he sucks harder "what you–" grazes his teeth over the very tip of her sensitive bud "wanted?"

He spreads her open, dips back in and listens as her breathing becomes more labored while she tries to nod.

Regina nods and nods and scrunches up her brow as he kisses and strokes his tongue up and then down and back up again, gently inserts one finger, pumps in and out. She's wet, oh so very wet. She bucks and whimpers, begins grinding, pushing herself harder against his exquisite tongue and skilled finger – fingers – he adds in a second, and he's pump, pump, pumping.

"Gods, your–" his other hand slowly trails up her stomach, under her dress, too much clothing, so much clothing.

Regina wants him touching her breasts, she arches her back, aches for more contact, wants to feel her skin on his skin. Her hands travel, start to knead through fabric, rubs against her peaked nipples, her eyes shut tight as Robin's tongue and fingers ripple pleasure outward, it blooms and blooms, spreads up her spine until her mouth is parted in an o, and her toes are curling, bringing her closer to the edge, she's on the cusp, ready to fall over, to overflow, and then, and then–

He stops.

A very unqueenly whine leaves her lips. She props herself up on her elbows and starts to complain, "Are you fucking kidding–" until he pulls the hidden knife out of his boot and cuts clean through the laces at the front of her corset.

A startled gasp escapes her mouth, her pupils dilating and darkening, simple pleasure and need all of a sudden replaced by lust and fire and desire reflected in her brown, heady eyes.

A cloud of purple pulls the knife from his hand, a hard thunk echoes as the blade embeds in the wall behind them, and Regina sits all the way up, grapples for the lapels of Robin's shirt and drags him toward her. He scrambles onto the bed, hands immediately scooping beneath fabric at the front of her blouse, cupping and groping and kneading her breasts as she moves her fingers down to undo his breeches, fumbling with the buckle as he eagerly complies, savagely capturing her moans and whimpers with fevered kisses. Robin pulls away, sloppy trail left on her lips, cooled by the winter air contained in their concrete room, but the temperature remains unnoticed, the heat of their bodies plenty enough to keep them warm and unaffected.

Regina gasps, all thought leaving her mind as Robin nuzzles her earlobe, nips lightly at her skin, grazing his teeth along her jaw and licking down the column of her throat.

He's a man wandering through the desert, parched, deprived of what he wants most, and what he wants most now is Regina.

She's the oasis. His life source, and he's ravenous, eager to quench his thirst.

Regina rakes her nails over his back, he straddles her waist, knees on either side of her as she pulls at the hem of his tunic, and he helps her yank it off of him – the offending garment tossed on the floor. His trousers are next, and then her skirt and ruined corset (which frankly, she doesn't mind, because he fucking cut the laces with his knife like they were nothing, he cut the laces the same way he did after saving her from the river, with one fell swoop, opening up her lungs and relieving her breasts of their confinement. She's been dreaming about him doing that again, wanted him to do that again under different circumstances, and now that he had, fuck). He meets her gaze, and they both grin.

Gods. This is going to be fun.

Robin kneels, sits between her raised knees, lifts her legs and drops them over his thighs, his throbbing erection presses urgently against her, and he groans as she wraps her hand around him and moves from base to tip, pumping a few times, while he leans forward, hovers over her and seals their mouths in a frenzy. He reaches down, swipes his fingers through her folds, making sure she's ready. She is, he knows she is, and she does too, she's been ready. He lines himself up, strokes once through her slick, slick slit, then sinks into her, girth and ridges fitting deliciously, and they moan in tandem. Foreheads touching, with his back bent away a bit, so as not to crush her or hurt her with her legs stretched like this, mouths open and hovering centimeters apart, not touching, just panting and sharing the air between them.

Regina runs her hands up and down his back, sweat gleaming at her temples, beading in the valley between her breasts, nipples peaking against the cool air as he moves inside her. She lets out a soft cry, rocking her hips to meet each of his thrusts, but it's not deep enough, there's not enough friction, she wants more, and Robin seems to catch on, knows her body well enough by now that he's already way ahead of her.

He grabs a pillow, and she helps by lifting her hips so he can scoot it beneath her, and there, that's better, and oh. Oh, god. That's much better, changes the angle, allows each thrust to take him deeper, to hit a spot that has pleasure not only blooming in her belly but cascading out until she's bucking against him in counterpoint every time he thrusts into her. Regina arches her hips toward him, a low ragged moan escapes her lips, her orgasm hits with tidal wave force and a strangled cry races out of her throat as she comes hard.

Robin stills inside her, knuckles white, fisting the sheets as his brow scrunches up. He pants and pants and pants, his abdomen tense with his lack of release. He's close, starting to get pulled over the edge as her muscles milk him; it wouldn't take much, and Regina knows this, so without thinking much further, she scootches away, pulls his mouth to hers, causing his body to lay flush with hers, then tucks her ankle behind his and rolls them, quick and easy (well, maybe not that easy), her hair falling around her flushed face as she flashes him a wicked grin.

"Smooth, m'lady," he chuckles, gripping her hips, taking in her heavy breathing as she straddles him . "Usually you need a second to–" she silences his words with a kiss, uses her tongue to tease at his lower lip, shuts him up, and then she leans back.

"Robin," she grinds forward harshly, steals both of their breaths away, "Are you" she grinds backward "really complaining" she lifts up just enough so the head of his cock is the only thing still inside her, and then thrusts down "about how" she leans forward and kisses him gently at first and then deeply, parts her lips to breathe and says, "we got here?" rocking back into him. He gasps. Mmmm. Of course not, he shakes his head, because how foolish. "Good," she smiles and then they're moving again.

Regina's breasts bounce in front of him, a tantalizing view from here on his back, and it's perfect, this is perfect. Her straddling his hips, taking him in as she rocks against him, controls the pleasure, maintains the rhythm of her pelvis bumping against his. He clutches at her arse, her beautiful, crime worthy arse, helps her keep a steady pace, pumps his hips up faster, and with each meeting, Regina feels tension building again.

One of Robin's hands leaves her breast and coasts down, down, down, over her flat belly, below her navel until his thumb finds purchase and thrums on her clit.

She's there again, at the precipice of orgasm, leans back and grips Robin's thighs, gyrating as he thrusts harder, more urgently, more sporadically and then, "Guuhh– oh God, fuck!" Regina shouts, comes and comes and comes. Arms going weak. Robin sits up, pulls her body to his, sweaty heaving chests slap together, and he growls, bites his lower lip, gives one long final thrust as they cling to each other, her arms wrapped tightly around him, and he explodes, spilling into her.

They gasp and collapse together. Him on his back, her sprawled out on top of him, legs tangled, panting and trying to catch their breath.

Minutes tick by, and then he quietly says, "I love you," carding his hand through her sex-touseled hair.

"I love you, too," she echoes, lifting up her head to rest her chin on his chest so she can look at him better.

She eases off him, flops back on the mattress, letting out a content, sated sigh. He shifts, props himself up on his elbow and stares at her, chest still heaving from their vigorous love-making, grinning at her pleased expression before he frowns slightly.

He hooks his finger under her chin and draws her face to look at him, "I love you," he says it again, rubs his thumb there, and then hesitantly moves his hand down, skims his fingers along the side of her breast, makes her tingle, down ever more, until his palm rests just below her navel. "And I love this baby. But Regina, I don't want you to ever think," he shakes his head lightly, "that I only see you as just the mother of my child. That's a bonus, and something to be happy about, tis true, but you're more than that to me." She laces her fingers with his. He knew that's what it had been, that pained, sad, faraway look in her eyes that he wanted to love away instantly. "You're a fighter, and brave, and a savior." That one in particular grates something awful, because she's not the savior, Emma is and always will be, but not to him, to him Regina is more than a hero. He, more than anyone, knows this without any doubt. "You saved Roland and me. You're good, and a leader, and my queen, and you're complicated and stubborn," she glares, giving him a look that says finish that sentence, I dare you, and he does, only not the way she expected, "And you have a past just like me, dark and twisted and filled with grief. You've just found out you have a sister, one hell bent on revenge, and even in that we're alike. I've not told you yet that I used to have a brother."

Her brows set deep. No. No, he hadn't.

She trails her fingers back and forth along the inside of his arm, it tickles, but in a good way, soothes and comforts as he starts to tell her about his brother.

"He was older, but only by a couple of years. We were very close growing up, as close as brothers could be, and we spent many a days adventuring through the woods." He pauses, clears his throat and pulls the heavy furs up to cover them. The heat of their bodies dissipating and winter's chill a bit too nippy for their naked, sweaty skin to bare.

"Our father broke his leg during King Richard's first Great War. It crippled him, and he wasn't the same after coming back. Physically or mentally. He began drinking. Just one pint in the beginning. But then that became two, and two became stints down at the local tavern. I was probably five and ten years of age, the first time he hit my mother in a drunken stupor. And none of us expected it. He begged for forgiveness. But then he did it again, and I … I tried to stop him. Shouted for him to leave her alone. He did. And then he spun around and backhanded me so hard I fell over."

His father beat him until his eldest son, Andrew, wrestled to pull him off. But that was by no means the last time he laid a hand on either of them or their mother. During the day, he'd be gone, out at the tavern, drinking away the sunlight, and in those hours, Robin and Andrew disappeared into the woods, went on adventures and imagined a better life together.

Robin brushes a few strands of hair away from Regina's face with his fingertips.

The adventuring didn't last long.

"The thing is, even when I had reason to hate my father, and I did hate him, I also desperately wanted his approval and his love. I wanted him to be proud of me. So when I was of age, I joined the King's guard to try and do just that. To make him proud. And by then, Andrew and I had grown apart. He thought I was a fool for pledging my allegiance to the crown, and I thought he was spineless for not. I didn't realize that in the end I was the fool." Robin twists his wrist as Regina traces over the black tattoo on his skin, "The royal guards were corrupt and dishonest, invoking the name of our liege to get away with villainous crimes, to treat common folk like the dirt on the bottom of their boots. They took what didn't belong to them, which is sort of fitting, because I forsake my oath and my king to get away from their cruelty and theft, and then I ended up stealing to survive. I couldn't go home. I couldn't use my given name, because Locksley had been dubbed a deserter. I banded with a few other petty thieves and we eventually became the Merry Men. Outlaws. It wasn't until I met Marian that I changed, that we amended our ways. I stole two horses from her family just because I could, and then she came and found me, arrow pointed at my face, and told me that I stole her family's livelihood. After that, we only stole from the rich and gave to the poor."

Regina's mouth upturns at the corner. Apparently, Robin isn't the one person who likes to point arrows in the faces of strangers at first meeting. She thinks she would've like to meet this Marian – the brave woman who seems to have helped alter the course of her soulmate's life for the better.

"And what happened to your brother? You said you used to have one. That implies that you don't any longer," she comments, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"It's complicated" is his answer, and Regina glares at him again, because her life is nothing but complicated. And her family history is as fucked up as it gets. He chuckles at the look on her face and concedes with, "He blames me for ruining his life."

"And did you?" She asks. Ruining his life, a phrase with which she's familiar.

"Yes," Robin mutters against the crown of her head. She finds that hard to believe, can't imagine him ruining anyone's life intentionally. "So you see, we've much more in common than you realize. I said I know you better, and I do, cause you're like me. I was once, long ago, quite different. But I changed. I left my past in the past, where it belongs, as you have. We've both suffered from heartache and a touch of self-loathing, but we've changed. We're not the people we used to be. I'm no longer the boy in that bar with a tattoo. And you're no longer the Evil Queen. I'm just Robin, and more importantly, you're just Regina."

He doesn't reveal how or why he believes he ruined his brother's life, and she doesn't push him. It's the least she can do since he never forces her to divulge deeper into her past than she's willing to go.

He'll tell her when he's ready.

Robin's palm inches under the covers and back to her belly again. He kisses her brow and breathes in the scent of her hair, apples and vanilla faintly linger in her silky yet tousled locks. "You're the woman I love, and we're having a baby."

Regina opens her mouth to say something, but he already knows what's weighing on her heart so he says, "No matter what happens, I'm here. I'll not leave. We're in this – in everything – together, remember? I won't let anything happen to you or to the baby."

A promise she knows he can't possibly keep.

She takes a shuddering inhale, burrows her face deep into the crook of his neck and just whispers, "I love you," lacing her fingers with his over her stomach.

Have faith, Regina. Have hope, Regina. Be happy, Regina.

She repeats the words over and over again in her head. She's trying, she really is, but–

This is supposed to be her punishment, her debt, her sacrifice required to stop Pan's curse. She needed to give up the thing she loves most, and that meant Henry. Her love for him is fierce and consuming and before being banished back to the Enchanted Forest there was no other that came close to filling her heart the way he did. But now, what if … what if her heart is capable of loving a few other people just as equally? What if she loves Robin and Roland and this baby just as much as she loves her little prince?

What then? Would her sacrifice be for naught?

Regina fears telling Robin what she's afraid of the most, because a part of her, a huge part of her believes there's power is speaking things aloud, and she won't say this.

She refuses.

Though, that doesn't stop her from thinking it, stomach churning up again.

Villains never get happy endings, and losing Henry nearly killed her. What is she going to do if she loses Robin or Roland or the baby?

"I love you, too, Regina," Robin's eyes drift shut, and he snuggles closer to her.

Or unthinkably, what if she loses all three?

* * *

The next morning, Regina and Robin do precisely what they promised Roland. They wake up, get dressed, meet him and the Merry Men down in the Great Hall for breakfast, and then they take him on a walk through the gardens. They spend a good portion of the morning playing and laughing and adventuring. Robin chasing after Roland and Regina protecting her little knight from his big, scary papa as they duck and hide behind hedges and trees while enjoying a thrill-filled game of hide-and-seek.

Around noon, when the sun is high in the sky and directly above them, Regina brews a locator potion, sprinkles it over the glass vial. Robin tells his son he'll be back before he knows it and kisses him on top of his head. Regina smiles at the two of them and then positively beams when Roland rushes over to her and gives her the biggest hug he can manage for a four-year-old.

"I've got him," Granny says, lifting Roland out of her arms. "Nothing to worry about. Just come back safely. And Regina," she starts and then nods at her knowingly. "You take care."

She wants to retort with some snide remark, but it's not necessary, she knows it's not. Nor is it appropriate given that Granny actually does care and is just concerned, for her, and for the baby. So she thinks before she speaks, breathes in and out, and says, "I will. Thank you."

A smile tugs at the corner of Robin's mouth as Regina kisses Roland on the cheek one more time.

"Ready?" Robin asks, swinging his quiver onto his back. She nods and they walk out of the castle, down the front steps and into the main quad. Much, John, Alan and Tuck wait for them, just before the main gate.

Regina whispers life into a spell she memorized long ago, and the vial sitting in her palm glows, rises into the air and begins floating away from her. She follows it, steps determined and purposeful; Robin at her side and John, Much, Alan and Tuck trailing behind them.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. But they sure are fun to write about. Let me know what you think. Good or bad. :)


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Following the wise advice of my lovely beta, Hayley (htoria on tumblr) and splitting this chapter into two. I'd be lost without her. She's amazing, you guys. The second part will be posted in the morning. A lot happens here. I hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for your patience and happy reading.

_The Tavern and Going Home_

The spell leads Regina, Robin and their small company further into the forest than they imagined it would. Deep, deep and deeper still, over babbling brooks and through the thickest of the woods, bordering the Badlands, an area Robin and his men would normally avoid at all costs, but they've no choice. Regina's tracking spell leads them dangerously close to it. As the sun begins setting, they still haven't reached their final destination (nor do they know where this journey will lead them) and everyone is exhausted. Regina feels the fatigue down to her bones; eyes stinging, muscles aching, and she should stop, she knows if she tells Robin she's tired he'd halt the entire party immediately. But she's stubborn, strong-willed and simply refuses to admit she's ready to collapse for the evening and sleep until sun up. Countless women have been pregnant before, countless will be again without fuss. She'll make no exception. Mercifully, she doesn't have to focus on the way her body is protesting for much longer; Alan grumbles about sore feet and supper, and they stop, make camp and rest for the night, wishing they'd brought horses, but there's nothing they can do about that now. They didn't want to draw a lot of attention to themselves anyway, traveling by foot was necessary, even if it is cumbersome.

John and Tuck prep a quick, easy meal – stew with ingredients packed for them by Widow Lucas. Carrots, onions, a few potatoes in a rucksack. It isn't as hardy as any of them would like, but it's enough, fills their bellies and gives them the energy they'll need for the continued journey tomorrow. Twice, Robin offers Regina his food, wanting to ensure she's cared for and well-fed, and looks very much like he's prepared for an argument when she refuses to take his share of the food but thankfully stays silent. She's still weary of anyone finding out about their baby.

She excuses herself shortly after supper, moseys on over to the tent she's sharing with Robin and ducks in. The others don't see her for the rest of the night.

She's lounging in a bed of furs when he joins her a while later, has pulled the pins from her hair so it loses its elaborate updo and changed from her traveling clothes into a gown simple enough for sleeping. There are bags under her eyes, and even in the dim candlelight, he can see that she's not feeling her best. He wants to tell her not to push herself, wants to tell her to take it easy, to say when she's tired or needs a break, but he knows she's already well aware of the fact that she needs to do those things. She's just being her usual stubborn self, so instead of chastising her like a child (which she most certainly is not), he eases himself behind her and starts massaging tension out of her clearly fatigued neck and shoulders. If she were ever in serious discomfort, he trusts her enough to decide for herself when enough is enough. She gave him her word, and he believes she'll do as she said.

"Mmm," she leans further into his kneading fingers and lets her head loll to the side as he brushes her hair away from the nape of her neck. "That feels nice. Thank you."

He kisses a bit of skin along the column of her throat and continues massaging. "Better?" He asks, inching her nightgown down off both her shoulders and rubbing his hands together to warm them further so he can work at the knots in her upper back.

"You've no idea," she groans, hand gripping his thigh and thumb rubbing over his trousers. They're worn and dirty from a hard days travel, but she pays no mind, and neither does he – he'll change after he's made sure she's alright. He wants to make sure she's comfortable, having seen the way her back stiffened with each mile they put between them and the castle behind them. Regina moans the more he moves his fingers, the more he plies her skin, relaxing her as he eases out tension. Her palm eases its way over her still fairly flat stomach and she moans again, but it isn't that same pleasant sound that escaped her earlier. This one is full of discomfort and annoyance.

Robin immediately stops what he's doing, skates his hands away from the knot and below her neck down her arms. "Regina?" He questions, worry in his voice. "You alright, love?

She nods, swallowing audibly. "Fine. Just–" she pauses and then leans back, resting against his chest and angling her face toward him. Regina smiles and then shakes her head. "I'm fine. It's the–" but at the slight panic in his eyes, she breathes and quickly adds, "We're both fine. I'm just nauseous."

They sit there in silence for a while, Robin gently rubbing circles on her belly, his own attempt at soothing her nausea, while Regina steadies her breathing, reveling in how safe and warm she feels when she's with him, enjoying this moment because she knows that sooner or later something will happen to shatter her happiness – the way that it always does.

"I thought something might have been wrong," he admits, never faltering in the motion of his hand as his palm slides in circles over the fabric of her gown, rumpling the material in a way that would – were she wearing anything more regal – have her scolding him for ruining her clothes. It helps, soothes the same way his voices does, and they talk until her eyelids get heavy with sleep. Robin thinks of Roland back at the castle as her body falls heavier against his chest, wonders what his boy has been up to, whether or not he's listened and stayed away from the sweets Granny Lucas was baking for Snow and Charming. Regina thinks of Henry as sleep pulls her in, of him somewhere back in the land without magic, of what he's doing and whether he's happy; he might not remember her, and that might kill her every second of everyday, but she hopes with all her heart that he's happy.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, snuggled close together, Robin unchanged and uncaring, both missing their children with dull aches in their hearts, and no way to soothe it.

The morning comes quicker than either of them appreciates, and after what Robin would consider the lousiest breakfast he's ever had the misfortune of eating, Regina re-enacts the locator spell for their party to pick up where they left off last night. The journey is every bit as tedious as the previous night, and by midday, they are breaking through a tree line. An overgrown mess of sharp, dense thorny vines, twisting like skeletal fingers that snare their clothes and scratch their arms as they carve their way through to discover an uneven, dirt path.

He recognises it instantly, feels a tug at his heartstrings as remorse overwhelms him. The road has changed, the trees now unkempt and overgrown, the landscape altered in the years it's been since he last made his way through these parts – but there is no mistaking it.

Robin is home.

As they step onto a meager, wooden bridge over a little creek, he stops and searches for a familiar etching. His gaze travels over the third post, and there it is. He reaches out and rubs his fingertips over the initials – _R.L._ – carved into one of the beams. His fingers move a few inches to the left and trace over the lines of two more letters. Letters that have bile rising up in the back of his throat.

_A.L. _

"Robin?" Regina asks, coming up to stand next to him. The vial still floating in the air in front of her, pausing at her command. "What is that?"

He looks at the carving for a second longer, lost in memories of a different time, and then says, "I did this when I was just a boy. With Andrew." A bitter smile weakly makes its way onto his face. "I haven't been here in years."

Much and John give each other a knowing look, and then wait as Robin finishes with, "I grew up here."

His men know about his past, his upbringing, the childhood that led him to join King Richard's army and then the atrocities he witnessed that made him question honor and duty. Atrocities that then led him to poor choices until he and the Merry Men found each other. They all have sordid pasts, their main reason for creating their own vows, their own code of honor and conduct. The theft came later.

"This is your home?" Regina quickly replies, eyes darting to his. Questions bombard her mind and she goes somewhat on the defensive.

Was the person who tried to poison them targeting Robin all along? Does someone want him dead? If so, who? Who did this? And how did they get into the castle? Now more than ever, she needs to know who's responsible. If someone is after her family, she'll make them wish they were never born.

Her family.

It still rocks her when she thinks about what breaking the curse stole away from her. A lifetime with her son, with Henry, tucking him in at night, reading to him while he's still young enough that he wants her to, dropping him off at the bus stop, spending Saturday mornings in their pajamas and just being together, loving him, comforting him, keeping him safe. A fool's paradise ripped from her grasp by a curse she knew the consequences of all too well. The guilt that sits in her gut is ever present, makes her question whether the constant nausea has anything to do with her pregnancy and everything to do with the fact she's growing a new child and nurturing another - Roland - after abandoning her own. Guilt. Heavy and unrelenting, and does she feel it because she's not with Henry? Or does she feel it because she's not embracing this second chance, this new family she's been given?

Her eyes settle back on Robin a second later, the thoughts ever present in her mind being pushed away as he nods slowly, but then almost waking from a trance, he hastily shakes his head. "No, it's not my home," _not anymore, _he asserts, removing his hand from the beam as if he's been burned. "It hasn't been for a very long time."

Not since his mother died, he thinks. Not since he lost his brother. Not since their father abandoned them. Not since he, himself, left to try and take hold of his fate and do what he thought was right, just and honorable. Robin chuckles darkly, getting lost in his past for a moment, thinking about his young, adolescent self – a naïve, foolish and pigheaded lad with a temper and misplaced trust in a brother he thought would never abandon him.

"Come on," he finally breaks the silence that's washed over their group and directs their attention back to the spelled vial. "We must be close. Village center is just a mile more."

Regina frowns but doesn't prod any further. Being here bothers him. That much is clear. They've talked little about his childhood save for what he briefly told her the other night about his brother and father. She wants to be there for him, the way he is for her, and in a moment of genuine concern, she places her hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze, unconcerned with the Merry Men standing around them. If they see the public display of support then so be it. By now, she's well aware that they know she and Robin are together. She's just happy they haven't drawn attention to it, don't bother pestering her or Robin (as far as she knows) with questions. They leave them be and don't mention it, which is more than she can say for Snow or David who are constantly asking her how she's doing (even though she knows what they really mean to pry out of her are details about what's going on between her and Robin).

The Merry Men are not blind. She knows this, knows they've seen her playing with him and his son, knows they saw her come out of his tent late at night while they were still traveling to the castle months before, knows they are privy to the fact that Robin is sharing her room. They just don't actually know how serious it is. They know she loves him, and that he must love her, after all, she did break the curse of Living Death upon him. Hard to deny True Love after a shared True Love's kiss. However, they don't know that she's pregnant, and she'd very much like to keep it that way, at least until she's further along. She likely won't carry to term (really she's still terrified she'll miscarry, that another glimmer of happiness will be marred, tainted, destroyed by tragedy), and she doesn't need the added stress of a fretting and doting Snow. She's already stressed enough as it is without the President of the Hope Commission breathing down her neck.

"Your Majesty?" Much prompts, pulling her out of her thoughts. He's pointing toward the road in front of them. She looks at him slightly dazed, so he says again, "Regina, shall we? I don't know 'bout you, but I'd like to catch the bloke who did this and head back to the castle as soon as possible."

She rolls her eyes but grins as she strides forward. "Anything to keep you from whining like a child, Much."

The men laugh, Robin even smirks a bit, and they make their way down the path, unaware that what awaits them is more than just one bloke out for revenge.

The spell stops outside a run-down tavern – one with which Robin is quite familiar. He and his brother used to frequent it rather often to check in on their father.

He puts his hand on the door, aged wood rough on his calloused palm, and then turns his head to give directions. They need some sort of plan, even though now that they're here he realizes how foolish this might have been. They're a company of six, a decent number, but he has no idea what awaits them on the other side of this door. He's not one to enter an establishment ill-prepared when keen on tracking down an enemy.

Robin meets Regina's gaze, and she seems to know what he's thinking. Whether plundering Maleficent's castle, breaking into King George's royal treasury or robbing the carriages of lords and ladies as they passed through Sherwood Forest, he and his men have always had some semblance of a plan. She tilts her head to the side and a line forms on her brow.

Yes, he thought as much.

She doesn't want to turn back, and truthfully, neither does he – no matter how cautious he wants to be. Roland could've just as easily eaten that porridge, could've easily been ripped away and lost to him forever, and for that matter, so could've Regina and their unborn child.

He cannot allow an attack on his family to come so close to home.

Not again.

It's with a newfound certainty that Robin says, "John and Tuck, go to the back entrance. We need to cover all escape routes." He nods at Much and Alan. "You two cover the front. Regina and I'll go in. We don't know what to expect or what we'll find. So if anything happens–"

"We'll cover your backs. Don't you worry about that," John replies, and the others are in agreement. "We're a team. We take care of each other, Robin."

He chuckles humorlessly and drags his hand down his face. "No further need for speeches or valiant pep talks, then." They've been through worse, he knows this; this is just them following through on a location spell. Or so they think.

Robin forces a grin at his men, and Regina smirks a little at their camaraderie. He looks her up and down, thankful she's wearing less conspicuous clothing – brown riding boots and black riding pants, a beige tunic (it's loose around her stomach but belted at her hips) and a deep blue gray cloak. They're a kingdom over from hers, in a domain ruled (or at least it was before the curse) by King Richard. Not many will recognize her on sight, not in these garments, but her face is still one that enough people might know. She was – is – after all, a notorious monarch. He steps into her space, close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek as he reaches behind her and pulls the hood of her cloak up and over her head, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear as he does so. He cups her cheek, brushes his thumb along her jaw; and Regina catches his hand reassuringly as it leaves the warmth of her skin and smiles at him.

"Alright," Robin finally breathes, turning around to push open the door. "Let's find out who attacked our home."

* * *

The tavern is dank, dimly lit and crowded; the dirt floor poorly covered by straw. Men and wenches laugh boisterously, knocking back pint after pint of cheap, watered-down ale, telling lewd jokes, and some of them are disgustingly drunk and overly fed.

Clearly, a room full of society's finest patrons.

A few casks line the wall behind the bar counter; messy bowls and plates are piled up there. Regina and Robin comb the crowd, slowly walking along the edge of the wall, staying in the shadows for the most part, trying not to draw too much unwanted attention to themselves. It can't all be avoided. They know that. As soon as either one of them spots the culprit, Robin has a feeling that neither of them will be able to hold back. Though, he thinks he'll probably fare better than Regina ... her temper usually gets the better of her, and as endearing as he may find that from time to time, he knows it will bring nothing but trouble if she blows her top when they're at a disadvantage.

Their eyes dart from face to face, looking for anyone familiar, anyone they've seen before until–

"Robin." Regina stills him with a hand on his shoulder and he follows her gaze. A lad sits across the room at a corner table, and they both instantly recognize him. Anger immediately ignites in Robin's gut and he crosses the gap separating them with the agility of a hunter.

He was wrong. It will not be Regina's temper that gets them into trouble.

The boy looks up just as Robin reaches him, eyes wide and startled, but he doesn't have time to scurry away. Only has time for a yelp to leave his mouth as his former leader grabs him by the collar, lifting him up from the bench with brute strength, and crashes his back against the wall behind him. It knocks the wind out of the boy's lungs and a harsh _oomph_ careens out of his mouth.

"Alec," Robin bites; his swiftness and the lad's scuffling feet kicking at the ground draw the attention of a few men nearby. But their curious gazes don't bother Robin, he only sees red, only sees Alec and the way he cursed Regina's name and helped Jakan tie her up all those months ago. He sees red and the attack on his family. He sees red and everything else blurs into the background.

"Where's your mate?" He bites, because he knows Alec isn't a leader, doesn't have the courage or the wits to carry out yet alone _think_ of a plan by himself that involves casualties, some likely very innocent.

He sees red.

"I– I don't know what–" Alec tries, but Robin cuts him off, places a slight pressure against his windpipe with his forearm.

"Don't lie to me, Alec. I know what you did, that it was you who tried to poison us. And I also know you didn't do it alone. So tell me. Where. Is. Jakan?"

Regina has never seen Robin like this before. Never been witness to the dark side that he's told her about, but now she can see how he might think it's there, waiting below the surface. Only, all she sees is a man protecting his family. A father protecting his children. A leader protecting his people.

The lad struggles against Robin's hold, fear paralyzing him the way a rodent is paralyzed under a viper's gaze. He shakes his head and Robin eases up a bit on his throat. He wants to scare the boy into confessing, he doesn't want to actually cause permanent harm. "No, no– it wasn't me– I–I didn't–" Alec stutters, still foolishly denying what Robin already knows to be true.

This approach isn't working, so Robin attempts a different one.

"You've an opportunity to redeem yourself," he sighs, lets up even more on his grip so that Alec can at least stand without his back digging into the rock and wood of the wall; he lets up his grip so Alec will see that he's serious. "I know you didn't act alone," he continues, and Regina sneers, _This child doesn't have a magical bone in his body. He has to be allied with someone else,_ before Robin goes further with, "So tell me, who gave you that potion? At whose behest are you working?"

"Please," Alec begs, his eyes darting around. "Don't make me tell you. She'll kill me. They both will."

"No, I promise, we'll protect you. It doesn't have to be like this, Alec." And Robin means it, he does. The lad is clearly afraid of someone, afraid enough that he snuck into the castle and did the unthinkable.

"You can't promise me that. How do you think I got in? It's not safe. No one is. She sees everything, and he– he won't forgive me. He'll gut me if I talk."

"You've already talked," Regina says, and her eyes soften a bit. He's just a petrified child, a teenager. He has acne and grime all over his face. His arms are lanky, posture poor, shirt untucked, laces undone. He's a mess. And if she were … well, if she were anything like how she used to be, she'd have used him as well. He's afraid, and fear gives people like her power. She knows all too well that fear can be used as a tool for manipulation, makes even the brawniest of men do things, follow commands under duress. A boy of Alec's age? If he's being coerced the way she thinks he is, he doesn't have a choice. "Alec, where did you get the draught? Who made it?"

"Is it the Wicked Witch? Did she put you up to this?" Robin whispers, because that's the only thing he can think of, that's the only person who's threatened them lately. But Alec shakes his head and Robin demands, "Then who? Why'd they do this? Who was their target?"

Regina can see that he's about to break, and the hopelessness in his eyes reminds her of something Emma said long ago in Neverland. Something about the lost boys and what she saw whenever she looked at them. And that's when it hits her. What does every child ultimately want? A home. He just wants to feel safe. "Alec, if you tell us who they were after, whoever this person or persons are," she takes a step closer to him, "We'll figure something out. We'll bring you back with us. You'll be safe." That's all she can promise him, because they'll still need to discuss his punishment. They still need to figure out if he's a real threat.

Alec meets her steady gaze. "It was you," he mutters. "Jakan … he took the potion from the crone. She … it was supposed to kill you."

"What crone?" Robin demands, combing through possible suspects, all the vagrants and witches he's come across or heard about over the years. "Did she tell him to do this? What's their motive?" Robin asks, hands still holding him by the collar of his shirt but not as tightly as before.

"No, she didn't know. He stole it … he said …" And then Alec stares at Regina with this knowing look in his eyes, and she takes a step back.

"His village," she says matter a factly, no question in her voice because she already knows what comes next. Alec told her she'd annihilated Jakan's village during her more erratic days as the Great and Terrible Evil Queen shortly before he abandoned their company and parted ways.

Alec nods, and then he's searching around for someone else's attention again, but the patrons are back to drinking their ale. Too busy getting drunk to mind what's happening with strangers. For all they know, this chap might owe Robin a few gold coins or is a runaway serf. Either way, the matter is no concern of theirs. That is, it isn't, until Jakan comes trolloping down the stairs to their right.

Everything after that happens quickly.

Jakan and Robin make eye contact, Alec shouts for his help, and Jakan shows his true colors by trying to bolt, rushing toward the back door, toppling over a few chairs on his way that clatter on the ground noisily, but he's stopped by an invisible force that seizes him around the neck.

And that's when the rest of the tavern riles up, when ale is finally forgotten, benches scrape roughly against the ground, something breaks as it crashes on the floor and Robin hears the _shing _of steel against scabbards as swords are drawn. He turns to see what each man is gazing at, but he already knows what he'll find behind him, can feel it in the pit of his stomach as every hair on his body stands on ends as if the air is live with energy. It makes him shiver, makes his muscles tense and every fiber of his being shout _Get out! Get her out of here! Get out!_

But it's too late for that.

Regina stands fierce and menacingly with her arm outstretched, her eyes wide and chillingly dark. There's a snarl on her face, a hard unforgiving thing that he and every other man and woman can see clear as day because the hood of her cloak is no longer shielding her face. No longer protecting her identity from beady, untoward glances, because it fell in her hurry to freeze Jakan on the spot. Hair let loose in long waves down her back, strands of it lightly lifting away from her cheeks, clinging to static that's ebbing off of her in short pulses. The magic may have first grabbed the attention of each criminal or war monger or petty thief or whoever else may be in here, but by the hard-lined expressions on their faces, Robin knows that no amount of common clothes could prevent these people from realizing who the woman is that stands in the center of the tavern.

Because they recognize her.

"Well, well, well men. Look what we have here," a sturdy bloke grumbles, getting up from a wooden bench. It scratches against the dirt floor as he pushes it away from the table. He drunkenly wavers on his feet for a moment, catching his balance on the shoulder of a fellow upright beside him and taking another generous gulp of his tankard of ale. He slams it down, a bit of froth splashes out and two more men join ranks next to him, each dressed in worn black garments and dull maille. They were soldiers at one point. That much Robin can tell, but by the looks of the holes in their clothes and their unkempt appearance, they're either disgraced or have long ago abandoned their posts. "It's been quite some time since we've laid eyes on our great Evil Queen," the man sneers, and Robin doesn't like the way he's eyeing Regina. He's got a jagged scar across his face that's slashed over his right cheek from the bridge of his nose to his ear. He's not the biggest man, but he's all muscle and gut; gut most likely from one too many a pint and provisions. He's raking his eyes over Regina's body from head to toe and lingering in between far more than Robin would care to have anyone look at her or any woman for that matter in such a disgusting way. But it's not just any woman.

It's Regina. The Queen. His Queen. His love. And these men not only recognize her, they know her, know exactly who she is.

Fuck.

They're in a vulnerable position with more men standing by the minute; they'll need to let Alec and Jakan go. They're too outnumbered.

"Regina," Robin utters, spinning himself and Alec around so he can fully look at her. They need to get out of here, preferably alive and the longer they stay here, the longer they do nothing, the more likely these men with crazy, hungry eyes are to realize (they're outnumbered, even with the Merry Men outside) they're alone. He says her name a little bit louder, loud enough that two men look up at him and evilly grin, stepping closer, circling them like prey. But she still doesn't respond. He raises his voice a bit with another, more stern _Regina!_ And it's with enough urgency that she shouts back.

"I know!" And then she glances at him apologetically, eyes blinking in awareness, her anger not meant for him. Magic still ebs off of her in waves, small purple pulses, a rhythmic thrumming that he's never seen before. "I know," she says a second time. And she does. She knows she has to let Jakan go, but there's a part of her that's been internally warring against another part of herself for the last few minutes.

It's the part that very badly wants to jerk her wrist as she used to and snap Jakan's neck. The part that remembers he frightened Roland all those months before. The part that can't forget the way he hit her over the head and tied her up to a pole. The part of her that remembers what revenge tastes like – sweet and familiar, slides down her throat with more ease than hot honey. It's intoxicating – the way darkness opens its arms and welcomes, beckons her in with warm tendrils. But revenge isn't the only thing that tastes sweet. Poison does as well, and Regina isn't the same person anymore (even if the darkness misses her and the delicious things they've done together; she doesn't miss it) despite how much she wants to kill this boy for almost costing her her soul mate and endangering her people – yes, her people, because as annoying as Snow and David and everyone else can be, they're still hers and they're all she has left.

And it's that part of herself – the part that can't tighten her magical grip and squeeze until this … victim, boy, child's face turns blue – it's that part and Jakan's terrified face, his panic-ridden eyes and words ringing in her head that save him.

_She killed my parents. She slaughtered my whole village. She's a monster. _

Tears sting and blur her vision. In anger, in frustration, in sadness? She's not sure. Maybe it's a combination of all three, because with a startling sucker punch to her chest, she realizes that in Jakan's story – in this boy's story, in his life – she murdered his family, massacred his village, lit the whole thing aflame and let it char and burn to the ground. She stole parents away from their child. She … a single tear slips down her cheek … she's done exactly what she accused Snow of doing when she was only 10-years-old. Only Snow's intent – though Regina could never admit it until now – wasn't malicious. Naive? Yes. A little bit selfish? Probably. But malicious? No. The only monster here is … herself.

_She_ ruined Jakan's life.

She stole a mother away from her child, robbed them of a future together. A child just as innocent as the one growing inside of her, and now because of that, because of her anger and blind revenge, that child has grown into a young man ready to reciprocate, ready to kill without thinking. She may not have done to Jakan exactly what Rumple or her mother did to her, but it's the horrendous things she did without thinking of the consequences that put him on a course of bitterness and revenge. A revenge that almost cost her Robin.

She _is_ the villain here. Not him. It may have been clouded by vengeance, but he was just doing what he thought was right – taking out the Evil Queen before she could hurt anyone else.

"Regina," Robin urges, oblivious to the internal struggle he's just pulled her out of and back to the present. He lets Alec go, pushes him toward the door; and terrified of what's going to happen next, wanting to live another day, the boy stumbles over his feet, doesn't second guess his release as he runs out of the tavern, leaving his friend behind.

Regina breathes in and out, in and out, and then meets Jakan's gaze. His eyes are still steely, jaw set and teeth clenched, features hardened, but she can see what he's trying desperately to hide. The fear. The possible regret. It's been weeks since their failed attempt on her life so it's very likely that word has spread even to this village about the people who weren't so lucky, about the commoners who died at the hands of sorcery. She imagines that Jakan's warring emotions match her own, because she's familiar; she knows what that feels like (Snow and David had been ready to execute her in what seems like a lifetime ago, and, in many ways, it is); she knows the bitter taste of remorse, recognizes a piece of herself reflected in this teenager's eyes. She _did_ this. She put the fear there; he may have been responsible for his choices after, but she's the one who ruined his life in the first place.

_Evil isn't born. It's made. _

And she made him. Regina releases her hold on Jakan, her shoulders clearly sagging, and takes an uneasy step back. Jakan coughs, slumps to the ground, hand coming up to massage his throat while his other fist props him up out of the dirt. He looks up at Regina, his expression unreadable, and then he scurries toward the door and runs as well.

They'll need to figure out who the boys are working for another time.

Robin approaches her slowly, bow already pried from its place at his back and in his hands where it belongs, grabbing two arrows and ripping the fletching off one side of each with his teeth before notching them. He stands with his back to hers and whispers, "What's the likelihood that we can take them all between the two of us? Those fireballs you're so fond of and my arrows?" He asks, with a smirk on his lips. The cheeky bastard. No amount of sarcasm or playfulness is going to make this easier, and he's well aware, which is why he's been counting how many men surround them ever since swords were unsheathed.

But Regina doesn't have a chance to answer his question, nor does she have time to keep thinking about Jakan, even though the revelation has shaken her, left her mind reeling and her body quivering like she's in some sort of post traumatic stress fit. She angles her head to look at Robin and tries to reply, but the sturdy bloke from before chuckles darkly and beats her to it. "Not very likely, I'd say," he spits, spinning his blade in his hand so light beaming in through a window glints off the steel. "Shall you tell him, Your Majesty? Or shall I?"

Regina grits her teeth and ignores his question, choosing instead to respond to annoyance in her usual fashion. Which really, why poke a hive when it's already provoked? But she's never been one to sugar coat words or mend fences. So she does what she always does and says, "I see you're still a soiled drunk, Audric."

He glares at her and the remark does nothing to dampen the upper hand he knows he and his men have. "I'm not one of your Black Knights anymore," he bites, and there it is, the truth, Robin thinks. He's one of hers, a former soldier and a bitter one at that. "_Your Majesty. _None of us are."

"Maybe now isn't the best time to talk about the bloke's ugly mug, Regina?" Robin tells her, attempting to refocus the drunken soldier's attention onto himself. And it does just that.

"I'm gonna enjoy slitting your throat," he says, taking a step toward the both of them. The other men take it as their signal to form a circle around Regina and Robin but none seem brave enough to actually make the first move.

Robin pulls the string back on his bow more tightly, knuckles grazing the side of his cheek. A bow is not a good idea for close quarter combat, he'll need to grab the knife at his belt rather quickly after these two arrows fly. He'll take down two men; he can do that much, and then he'll go for fatal blows with his hunting blade. His muscles tense and release; and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a fireball form in Regina's palm, the heat of flame brushing up against his skin.

Magic makes things a bit more even but not by much. There are at least thirteen of Regina's former Black Knights standing up, and it's just the two of them. They're in tight quarters, too close to sharp, stinging swords, haggard men with greasy hair and yellowed, malicious smiles.

Smiles that boil Robin's blood with the way they're directed at Regina. Greedily. Lustfully. Maliciously.

There are moments Robin can recall that seemed to stand motionless, as if time didn't exist from one second into the next. Moments when leaves stopped falling and water stopped moving and everything was … just … still. When he could hear his own heart beating, feel each breath pass through his lips, and see every twitch and flutter and disturbance in the forest as if everything was moving at a glacial pace.

That's what this moment is like, that's why out of the corner of his vision, he catches a man rushing up behind Regina, only he isn't rushing. He isn't rushing at all. He's falling forward, slowly and then quickly and then he's just collapsed on the ground, a plum of dirt kicking up like a tidal wave, arrow protruding out of his chest; and that's when the fighting starts, when a cacophony of animal like shouts and guttural screams begin, and Robin realizes the arrow isn't his. But he doesn't have time to realize more, because that's when everything speeds up again, and all of his senses come reeling back and he can hear more than just the sound of men dying. He hears everything, and then he sees it, too – pupils dilated like black saucers. John, Alan, Tuck and Much barrelling into the tavern, weapons drawn, swords already bloodied, felling anyone who steps into the fight.

Regina's holding her own, as she always does, but this time she's looking more and more exhausted by the minute, swaying a bit on her feet, pushing back two men with magic who keep coming at her, but with each violent wave that goes out and each fireball that careens from of her palm, she physically gets wearier and wearier and Robin notices she's not all there. She's distracted.

There are only a handful of men left, when she practically trips over her unsteady feet after snapping an unnamed Black Knight's neck. She falls, hits the ground hard and her knees make a god awful cracking sound on impact. She seems dazed, confused, skin pasty, breathing ragged, hands shaking, and Robin's attention is diverted for too long, eyes not focused on danger like they should be, and he barely escapes the swing of a blade that would've taken off his arm, but instead just slices through the sleeve of his tunic and knicks him. He hisses but it's nothing more, just a scratch, not a real concern, not when he sees Audric stalking toward Regina who's still on the ground.

He's not close enough to her, too much space between them for him to cross the ten paces in time. He reaches back to grab another arrow because that he can do, but just as he's knocking it back and ready to aim and let loose, he hears more than sees the heavenly sound of a dagger cutting through the air and hitting its mark just below Audric's jugular. He's dead and bleeding out in the dirt within seconds. Good riddance, Robin thinks, watches as Alan runs up to retrieve his blade.

And that's it. No more. Bodies strewn about on the ground, benches and tables toppled over, some used as shoddy and insufficient barricades. By the looks of it, all the other patrons cleared out, including the barkeep.

Robin rushes over to Regina, asks if she's alright as he's lifting her up off the floor and helping her gain her balance, checking her over, and she says, _I'm fine. _Though. No. Actually, she's not. Not fine at all for that matter. Feels heaviness settling into her limbs and darkness pulling at the back of her eyelids. She's ready to collapse again, feels her magic sapping away energy much more than it should. Robin steadies her, hands on her shoulders, crook of his finger tilting her chin up so he can better look at her, and it's then she sees his men staring, so she brushes his touch away, because they're not doing this here. Though, maybe she should sit down.

"We saw those two idiots run out like a fire was burning under their arses," Tuck says, unclasping a flask from his hip and offering it to Regina who's white as a full moon. "Shall we go after em? Can't have gotten far." He gestures for her to take the flask again, but she frowns.

"I don't day drink," she replies, and it's true, she doesn't. But that's not the only reason she won't be partaking in ale or whiskey or wine, no matter how much she craves them.

John steps up to Robin and asks, "It was them, wasn't it? Jakan and Alec? They're the ones that brought the curse upon the castle."

"It appears so, yes," Robin answers and then tells them that the lads are working for someone else. But they didn't get that far in questioning them before all hell broke loose. They just know it's not Zelena. Someone else is pulling the strings on this one – a crone. Regina's leaning into him a bit more but not as much as he wishes she would. Stubborn idiot.

"We go after em, then?" Alan asks, mimicking Tuck's suggestion, but Regina shakes her head with a firm _No_, immediately regretting it and groaning as the world spins again. This time Robin doesn't let her push him away when he supports her with one hand on her hip, letting her lean into his chest a bit.

"No," she repeats. Thinking about Jakan and the fear and hatred in his eyes. "We're not going after them."

"Regina, we can't let them– " Robin starts, and she stops him.

"He's … he's just a boy," she breathes and John grumbles, _a bloody dangerous boy who tried to kill us_. "He's a _boy_ and he's not the villain in this story." She sighs, meeting their gazes. "I am. I murdered everyone he loved. Me," she points at her chest "I made him like that."

"Regina," Robin practically scoffs, but her vertigo is finally disappearing so she steps away from him, out of his warm arms so she doesn't have to feel the refusal to accept what she's telling him reverberate in his chest every time he speaks.

"I've done a lot of terrible things in my lifetime, Robin. I've hurt a lot of people. And I know that's not me anymore. I do. But there are reminders here, and so many more than in … than in Storybrooke." It's a new kind of pain, a new kind of agony, being aware of herself and the horrendous things she's done. Snow and David, Granny and Ruby, even Leroy may have forgiven her … but it would be naive to expect that everyone else has done the same or even has the ability to and that's something she has to live with. Because theirs, the people with similar stories to Jakan's? She won't ever be able to take it back, her debt to them will never be able to be repaid. "So for that, Jakan and Alec, they get a pass."

Alan and Tuck are shocked, dumbstruck and it shows clear on their faces when John says, "So we're not going after em, then?" Just to be sure.

"No. No, we're not," Regina sighs and closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She's a headache coming on, and with the way its stabbing between her eyes, it'll be a migraine well before they make camp on their way back to the castle. She groans thinking about the long walk back on foot. She thought about using magic to transport them there, but … if she's already this weak from a few measly fireballs and small spells … her stomach churns in protest and she places her palm there to quell it, not even thinking about the company around her.

Deep lines set on Robin's brow, and he nods back at Tuck who's quick to offer Regina the flask again. She opens her eyes when he taps her on the elbow, gesturing it toward her mouth.

"I told you, I don't day–"

Tuck shakes his head and laughs. "It's not ale. It's water. Drink up," he says, passing it into her hand. And then he surprises her with, "Besides, looks like ye and the wee one need it."

She practically chokes on the refreshing liquid traveling down her throat, sputtering an, "Excuse me?" with a hand over her heart.

"It's alright, Regina. Jig's up," Much interjects and winks at her. "We've known about the little one for a bit now. S'fine." He comes up next to her and gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but the glare she gives him makes him retract his hand. Too _much_ Much maybe. He grins at her, not at all deterred by the way she's looking at him. They've all spent enough time with her by now to know that her bark isn't as bad as her bite. Though it can be. Bloody lethal when she wants it to be. She's just reminded them of that. She's beautiful and powerful, but she's also a weapon. A monarch whom long ago killed peasants based on rumors and tortured for information all in the name of anger and revenge. But they also know that's not her anymore, and she's proven herself to them over and over again in the last several months.

Much chuckles, and Regina's shocked expression softens. She turns her gaze to Robin, but he raises his hands up in earnest. "I didn't. I swear."

"Tis true. He never let it slip. Not willingly anyway." An amused smirk similar to Tuck's pops up on John's face. "We all remember how ya were with Marian, Robin. You're the same way with the Queen. It's hard to miss when ya know what you're lookin' for."

"So you all knew? You knew this whole time?" Regina questions and Robin runs his fingers across his scalp, scratches at the nape of his neck. "Is that why you were so insistent you come with us?"

"Well yeah. Couldn't very well let the two of you come have all the fun. Not when we made a vow to protect you and our newest addition to the Merry Men," Alan points toward her stomach.

Regina stares at them gobstruck. Obviously, she and Robin hadn't been as careful keeping their secret from people as they thought. But if she's counted right, she's nearing the three month mark or just passed it, and her fears haven't been realized yet. She's still pregnant and the baby – she rests her palm low on her stomach – the baby is still here. She hasn't lost it. So she meet Much's eyes and asks, "And if it's a girl?" A smile tugs at the corners of Robin's mouth, happy to see color coming back to her cheeks.

Much grins because that one's easy. "Ya don't have to be a boy to be one of the Merry Men, Regina. You're one of us, aren't ya? Besides, I quite like the idea of a little Princess of Thieves, right mates?"

They all nod and Regina smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes as the rest of them laugh and congratulate them. She watches John pat Robin on the back and give him a bear hug. She's smile, smile, smiling, but there's this pang in her gut that won't go away, this heaviness that's pressing down on top of her and trying to bury her behind layers of dirt and earth and worms and creepy crawly things. She smiles but weakly, because there's this small voice whispering into her ear that the baby may be alright now, but …

She thinks of Jakan. Henry. Greg Mendel. A raspy cackling in the dark. Leopold's face flashes across her vision, and her mother's words echo in her ear.

No matter how hard she tries to be good or do good, Regina will never be enough.

Memories overwhelm her.

_Daniel in the dirt without a pulse, without a heart beating life through his veins. Her wedding night and her mother telling her to listen and do better and try harder and to win the people over after only being married to Leopold for less than a day. Gold's shop and cradling her dying mother in her arms; the fear of being alone, of being left behind, of not knowing what to do wracking her frame. Electricity jolting through her body, burning skin, searing pain. The beastly face of a man who used to be a little boy crying at the townline, a keychain in her palm and tears in her eyes as she watched him walk away. Henry ripping out his heart and thrusting it into Pan's chest, seeing him collapse on the ground like a broken doll, white hot agony shattering her soul. Emma and Henry driving away in a beat up, yellow Bug. Cloud of purple dissipating and she's back in the Enchanted Forest, without her son, without hope, a hole in her heart that can never be filled. _

And that's when it hits her, that's when she finally is willing to admit, she thought she didn't want to tell anyone about the baby because she was afraid of losing it, because she was afraid of what loving this child would mean for her curse. But those aren't the only reasons.

There's a little corner of her heart where love and hope are trying to wiggle their way in, but there's also a huge gaping hole in her heart that can only be filled by Henry, and this baby … this baby is just reminding her that she doesn't have her son, and that's killing her, that's making her feel like she's already failed this child and the price she's suppose to be paying. This child that hasn't even been born yet, and it isn't fair, none of it is, because she's not done grieving the loss of her son and she wants so desperately to love the thing that's growing inside her, but right now – right now – the only energy she has is directed toward holding onto every memory she has of Henry. His laugh, his smile, the sound of his voice. The way he left his stupid shoes all over the house.

God, what she wouldn't give to find a pair of his sneakers on the floor and not in their rightful place in the hallway closet.

Before when it was just her and Robin and Granny who knew about the pregnancy, _that_, she could deal with. She could handle it just being their secret, because it meant that she only had to process what she was feeling, what Robin was feeling, and she never had to worry about Granny. Granny's only concern is that Regina is taking care of herself.

But now ...

Robin looks at her, smiles, beams. As is his right. To feel the elation that she wants to feel but can't. She smiles back, puts on a face (because that she _can_ do. Those she's good at. She internally cringes. Mother always did love her face.).

Much pats Robin on the back, John pulls a flask from his hip that does contain ale and he's toasting Robin and he's toasting her, and they're all smiling and elated and happy and congratulatory, and she's just … not ready. Snow will know now, then so will David, and soon the whole castle will be gossiping about her pregnancy and voicing their opinions. But the one opinion she actually cares about, the one person who she needs to tell … she can't. Because he isn't here, and even if she could tell him, he wouldn't remember her anyway.

Alan tells them there's a blacksmith nearby where they can acquire a few horses, plenty for them to ride back instead of walk. It'll save them the day, and if they're lucky, they'll make it to the castle before nightfall. This bit of news brings their party added cheer, and they depart the tavern.

The door shuts behind them, squeaking on its hinges as it swings. A rat pops its little head out from behind the bar counter, sniffs the air and scurries away. Broken glass crunches under heavy footsteps, and a hand comes up from behind the counter. "Jakan and Alec … those fools," Nottingham says, dusting off his knees and standing up and out of his hiding spot.

_Fools, but at least they brought him the missing pieces of his puzzle_, he thinks, exists through the back door, and disappears into the trees at the edge of town before Robin, the Queen and the Merry Men ride by on their newly purchased steads.

It's sun down by the time he bursts into Mortianna's lair. She's hovering over a small makeshift table, reading bones and casually brewing something that smells absolutely putrid, a combination of rotting eggs and decaying flesh. It makes him want to gag, makes him flinch as wisps of it sting the inside of his nostrils. Jakan is there sitting in a corner and well out of her way, but upon Nottingham's entering he stood up swiftly.

"You're lucky I don't slit you from throat to navel," Nottingham threatens, dagger out of its holster and pointed at the lad.

"I've already dealt with my nephew. I don't need you to do it as well, Nottingham." Mortianna stands up and pads over to the cauldron boiling in the hearth. "He was already punished at the last crescent moon for stealing and trying to assassinate the Evil Queen." She angles her face toward Jakan. "Even though he failed miserably and cost me three moons worth of collecting ingredients. And I've just discussed his next punishment for getting caught by the Evil Queen and Robin Hood. He knows he could have led them right to us and ruined the only element of surprise we have." Mortianna shuffles back over to her bones, pricks her finger with a needle and drips a drop of blood onto them before saying, "Alec is gone. But we needn't worry about him. The Wicked Witch has already seen to it that he doesn't speak a word of our plan. He didn't know we were working with her. Now, tell me." She drags her nail through spit and bone and blood and sneers because she knows what his answer will be before she even asks the question "What did you see?" The answer lays before her already, arranged in sizzling bubbles of spittle and crimson.

"I saw her. I saw the Queen."

"And?"

"The bitch is with child. Your prophecy is coming true."

"Then it's time. Gather the men from the north. Go over the plan. Jakan," Mortianna turns to her nephew. "Send a message to the Wicked Witch. If she wants the key to our realm, it's her blood we'll need to get in through the secret tunnels."

"Wot ya gonna do?" Jakan asks, heading toward the door.

"We're going to kidnap the Evil Queen."

* * *

Disclaimer: they're not mine, but this storyline sure is.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Make sure you read chapter 12.1 first before you read this. Big thank you to Jen and Hayley (starscythe and htoria; Jen for cheering me on and Hayley for putting up with all my "this is shit" texts as my lovely beta). Without further ado, chapter 12.2. **

* * *

_The Lion and the Queen_

Regina, Robin and the small company of Merry Men canter under the portcullis and into the castle courtyard just as the sun dips down behind the westward mountains. They're greeted by two watchmen. One of them addresses Regina with a _Your Majesty_, bowing his head and giving her a quick update on what's been happening while she was away.

It's been quite clear to the people that she, Snow White and David are corulers, sharing the weight of leadership. And even though some were hesitant to accept at first, given many of their experiences with the Queen's reign, Snow's support and encouragement of it was hard for them to ignore. She set them at ease.

The guard, whose name Regina will later find out is Tanner, tells her that the evening supper has ended; and most have either turned in for the night or are lounging in the Great Hall. Last they saw, Princess Snow and Prince David were speaking with the Blue Fairy. Some of the dwarves were puttering about, smoking pipes with Mulan and the other Merry Men.

Regina thanks the guards, something she's doing more and more of lately, dismounts and leads the Thoroughbred into the stables. She untacks, hangs the bridle up, lifts a comb and brushes through his mane, breathing in the calming smell of hay, dust and lingering sweat, lost for a moment in her childhood days spent galloping across meadows, jumping over oxers and fences, feeling the wind in her face and Rocinante's stride widen under the pressure of her heels. She presses her cheek to the stallions neck, breathing in the comforting scent again, letting it wash over her. She closes her eyes and her fingers still, and that's when she feels it, a quickening in her belly, followed by a white flash.

_She's galloping, sun shining down on her face. She's aged, a few well-earned lines at the corners of her eyes, but she's no less beautiful. Even more so now. All soft smiles, brightness, light and warmth in her rich, dark eyes. Laughter and gleeful shouts bubble up from a little girl sitting safely between Regina's legs, tiny hands fisting in the mane of a midnight black mare. Rosy cheeks and button nose, wispy brown curls that fly about her sweet angelic face. The little girl's eyes are a deep blue, just like her father's. Regina loosens her grip on the reins, laughs freely with her daughter, and the next sound is music to her ears. _

"_Faster, Mommy!" The little girl shouts._

"_As you wish, my darling."_

And then the vision flickers out, gone just as soon as it came. Eyes closed, she feels for the life stitching together beneath skin and muscle. Seconds tick by - she hears him before she feels him, he comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her middle and squeezes lightly. She sighs into him, lets her hand drop to her side, shaking away wishful thinking and hope, not ready to acknowledge that the baby she's been dreaming about for months is the same as the little girl she just saw in a glimmer of what might come to pass.

Their quiet moment together is interrupted by Much, Alan, Tuck and John trudging in on tired limbs to free the rest of the horses into the pasture. Once they're all done, the men clamor into the Great Hall and a young girl named Jensen points them toward the kitchens where bread bakes in the oven and leftover roast turns on a spit.

Regina tells Robin that she's tired and just wants to take a bath, away from prying eyes and questions and the reality that, even though she's the one who ultimately let Jakan get away, they will need to figure out what comes next, figure out if he still poses a threat. But for now, all she wants to do is disappear and let soap and warm water soak away the anxiety and fear coursing through her bones. Robin nods, saying that he'll scrounge them up something to eat after checking in on Roland. He watches as her shoulders heave and she walks slowly down the long hallway, rounds a corner and disappears out of view.

He finds her an hour or so later, curled up in bed on her side, back facing him, hair up off the nape of her neck and wisps of it framing her face, her head buried in a pillow. He crosses the room, places his bow and quiver in a chaise next to the vanity, sets a platter of assorted fruits, nuts, sliced bread and dried meats down on the nightstand next to a pitcher of water, and comes up behind her.

"Regina?" He asks, resting his hand on her shoulder. She angles her head to look at him and what he sees breaks his heart. Blotchy cheeks, red eyes, tears streaming down her face. "Regina," he whispers brokenly, easing himself next to her and pulling her into his arms. She goes willingly. And he realizes she must really be upset if she doesn't care that he's still filthy and he's soiling her clean clothes and clean skin with the grime on his hands and the blood on his tunic.

He doesn't ask her any questions at first, just holds her, just soothes the hiccups now wracking her tiny frame by rubbing up and down her back. Lips grazing the side of her temple, thumb caressing the side of her cheek as he holds her to him. Minutes go by, how many, neither of them knows, but when her breathing finally calms and her chests rises and falls in slow, steady beats, Regina tilts her head up, stares, looks into his crystal blue eyes and then moves her mouth to his, kisses him, languidly. Her tears sweet and salty on his tongue as their lips come together and apart.

"We were lucky today," he finally says, touching his forehead to hers, and she agrees, leaning further into his arms and nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. "Regina, what happened? What were you thinking before you let Jakan go?"

"It wasn't his fault." She shakes her head, peppers his jaw with peck after peck until she's back to his lips, kisses, nips. She's trying to distract him and he knows it.

"Regina," he kisses her back, "that's lovely–" kiss "and you know how much–" tongue "I love it when you–" she grazes her teeth over his bottom lip "do that." He gulps, trying to get his wits about him and force himself to think with his head for a minute instead of his … other _head_. "Regina," he groans, frustrated with her, because yes, this is amazing, he loves it when she – _guh_ – he sucks in a harsh breath as her nimble fingers rub over where he's already hardening in his breeches. He stills her hand and grumbles into her ear that he _knows what she's doing_, but he _thinks they should talk_.

She sighs, brushes her nose up against his, and then pushes herself away, rolling over and sitting up on the edge of the bed, bare feet just skimming the cold, stone floor. Robin sits up behind her and waits, ready to listen or comfort or do whatever it is that she needs.

It's useless to think at this point that he'll let her pretend like nothing happened at the tavern, that letting that teenager go wasn't a big deal, because he won't, won't let her ignore it when it's clearly still bothering her. Unconsciously, she rests her palm just below her navel and fidgets with the fabric of her gown with her thumb.

"I–" she stutters, breathing and starting again. "A long time ago, someone offered me – the Evil Queen – a second chance, a shot at redemption. They said that if she meant it, if I meant it, they'd gladly accept me back …" She thinks of her incognito conversation with Snow in a makeshift tent and then on a small incline where hundreds of bodies lay hidden out of view. "Robin, that boy," Regina spins around, pulling her knees up under her, hands open in her lap, "that boy was just as scared as I was when I thought I was at the end. When I thought, 'this is it, this is my life, this is what I've done with it.' And I wasn't at a place where I could admit this before, but …" Her almost execution flashes through her mind. The arrows, that stupid fairy that never did her any favors, the mocking faces of the men and women in the crowd, Snow and David sitting in their viewing box. She thinks about the things she said, thinks about the remorse and regret stuck in the back of her throat, and then she remembers what she actually said, the venom she spit and the daggers she glared and the horrified faces staring back at her. She does have regrets, many more now that she no longer has Henry. She thinks about the things she might have done differently and her vengeance sticks out like a sore thumb. Though, without her vengeance, Henry never would've come into her life in the first place; he might not have even been born. So she doesn't wish to change what can't be undone, but Jakan … Jakan is at the beginning of his life. He has so much more ahead of him. "He deserves a second chance."

"And if he comes back with reinforcements?"

The memory of Robin's sickly body collapsed in a heap at the foot of their bed makes her blood run cold. She knows what she'll do if Jakan comes for her family again, but she doesn't want to agonize over it anymore tonight. For now, she wants to forget that her life is one unending catastrophe after the next so she places her hand on Robin chest, feeling for the steady beat of his heart against her palm.

"Then we deal with him when he comes," Regina says, resigned to the fact that maybe this nightmare might never end, just like the earth shattering visions that plague her in sleep.

Robin touches his forehead back to hers and cards his fingers through her hair. He's heard her side, even though he knows there's more. There always is with her, and every time they talk in private, where she knows everything they say will stay between the two of them, she reveals a little bit more of what's going on inside that very beautiful yet often troubled mind of hers.

"I don't want to lose you, Regina," Robin mutters, voice so quiet and hushed, she'd have missed it if his lips weren't just inches from hers, his breath feathering across her skin. She doesn't want to lose him either. Oh, if only he knew how that very thought tormented her at night. "I know you can take care of yourself. I know you're completely capable, but the thing is. You're not alone anymore, and more importantly you don't have to be. Today was foolish. Not because you're pregnant. Not because you're a woman." He skates the pad of his thumb over the rise of her cheek. "We went in without a plan. We didn't know how many we were up against. We didn't know our escape route or our course of action if events didn't go our way, and they almost didn't. If it hadn't been for my men, well ..." He remembers Audric stalking toward her while she bent over forward on the ground, unprotected, disarmed, disoriented, feels himself shudder at the what if that flits through his mind. "We wouldn't have been so fortunate."

Robin cups her cheek and brushes her hair away from her face, tucking a strand behind her ear. "We protect each other, alright?" He says, his words heavy with promise – an agreement, a commitment to her, to the family they're creating (to the one she still feels pangs of guilt over in the pit of her stomach).

"Alright," she replies, snuggling closer to him and tracing small circles over his chest. He gently presses a kiss to the crown of her head and breathes in the sweet scent of her hair.

Regina tilts her head up and glances from his crystal blues down to his lips. She licks hers, and he grins, while her fingers trail lazily over his skin. She starts at the base of his throat, travels down his exposed chest that's peeking out from where the laces are undone at the front of his tunic, her index finger stopping when it hits fabric. She smiles up at him, and then with a wave of her hand and a glint in her eyes, his shirt is folded up neatly on a chair by the door. Her finger continues its trail down the toned muscles of his stomach.

Years of living in the forest, hunting, running, trekking over miles of rough terrain and evading the law have kept him fit, fitter than most of the men she's been with, and looking at him, studying his body the same way his eyes are raking hers, desire burning hot in the pit of her belly, but then there's also this odd ringing in her ears and then the room is spinning and she's having a hard time keeping her eyes open and Robin–

"Hey, hey, hey, I've got you." He steadies her as she's about to fall over, drags them both back to lean against the headboard and situates her between his legs. He leans over and reaches for the water pitcher, pouring her a glass and bringing it to her lips. "That's something else we need to talk about. What's going on?" He asks, lacing his fingers with hers over her stomach as she drinks.

She rests the metal chalice against the outside of Robin's thigh. "Ever since the tavern … something's been wrong with my magic," she confesses. "I don't know if it's me or just today or if …"

"If it's the baby?" He prompts, gently squeezing her hand, and she _hmmm_s a yes. "Regina, earlier when you," he gestures what she assumes is supposed to be a choke hold, "used magic on Jakan, had you ever done that before?"

She frowns in his arms. "Robin, I was called the Evil Queen for a reason. Today wasn't the first time I've strangled or frozen someone in place like that. You know that better than anyone."

"No, I'm not referring to that. I meant the …" He adjusts her in his lap and stretches out his arms so he can demonstrate with his hands what he saw while they were surrounded in the tavern. "Pulses of energy were coming off you in waves of purple, and the more angry you became the larger the pulses, but then something changed and your whole demeanor shifted. You released Jakan. Then the energy disappeared."

Her brows furrows at that, because she honestly can't really remember. Her silence worries Robin. "Maybe we should talk to Doc, hear what he has to say about–"

Regina refuses, shaking her head back and forth. "I'll talk to Granny in the morning. The dwarf wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut. He'd tell Snow, and then the whole castle will know. And I'm– I'm not ready yet." She shifts and turns to look at him, pleading with her eyes. Robin grabs the chalice before it can topple over, places it back on the nightstand and scoots himself up so they're propped up on pillows and Regina's comfortably situated in his lap.

"Alright," he chuckles, pushing her hair away from her face and kissing her forehead. Robin grins, his dimples and sincere eyes melt her worries to the back of her mind.

There's love in his gaze, love unlike any of which she's ever been on the receiving end. He's so understanding and patient. How did she ever get so lucky?

Regina pulls his face down to hers and kisses, nips, tugs and slips her tongue into his mouth, and Robin doesn't resist, groans at how easily they can go from being tender one second to wanting to devour each other in the next. He cards his hand through her hair, presses her closer to him with one palm on her lower back, angles his head just a bit so the kiss deepens, and then she's groaning and shifting so she can straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, hiking up the skirt of her nightgown. He chuckles at her eagerness and then surprises her by sitting up, lifting her into his arms, supporting her under her arse and rolling them over. When her back hits the mattress, her legs are splayed open for him. He swiftly rucks up her nightgown so the fabric pools just above her navel, and then he's grinding himself in between her thighs.

"Alright?" He asks. And there's him caring again, checking in to make sure she's comfortable and that the dizziness is gone. Regina moans and wraps her ankle around the back of his leg, sliding her foot up along his calf as he rocks into her again, dry humping and rubbing their sexes together.

"Yes," Regina breathes, fumbling with the belt holding up his trousers, keeping a key part of his anatomy away from where she wants it most. She whips the belt out of its loops and tosses it. The metal buckle clatters against stone; she helps him ruck down his pants and undergarments. He lifts his hips and kicks them off his ankles and onto the floor. Her smallclothes are next, and he slides them down her creamy legs easily, kissing along the inside of her thigh as he goes and then kissing his way back up to the sensitive bud between her legs once her undergarments are tossed on the ground next to his.

Robin teases her entrance with his fingers, exploring and working her up until she's ready. She's not yet, not quite wet enough but he'll get her there. He always does. And if he has to use a bit of his spit to help, well, he's not complaining about that. He loves the way she tastes, the way he can pull gasps of pleasure past her lips with his mouth and his tongue. He starts quite quickly with a long, dragging swoop of his tongue, through her folds and to her clit where he sucks, kisses and makes her purr so she's pleasantly scrunching up her brow.

She continues to assure him that she'll be more careful, she'll talk to Granny, she'll stay open and honest and will let him know if it becomes too much for her. She'll let him know if she needs to slow down, if she needs to rest or do less.

He grunts, achingly hard but holding back until she's wet enough for him to fill her. He nips the inside of her thigh, peppering her skin with chaste kisses when he asks, "Promise?"

"I promise," she whispers, while he's propped up on his elbows over her, one of her legs over his shoulder and the other spread out and held back by his hand that's not currently busy inserting one finger and then two inside of her. "I promise," she says again, voice hitching in her throat as he sets a slow torturous pace, and she means it, really, truly means it as she's nodding her head and then eager hands are scrambling to pull him up. She crashes her lips to his in a frenzy, reaches down between them as he's placing wet, hot opened-mouth kisses along the column of her throat. She unties the laces at the front of her nightgown while he teases her, slowly pulling his fingers out and then thrusting back in again, knuckles buried inside her. Her mouth drops open, and she moans as pleasure builds and the rocking of their hips rubs his cock just so, up against her clit, and she _ahhh_s.

She loves him for waiting, loves him for seeing to her first, but she wants him, wants him now, and she can't wait any longer.

Regina spits in her own palm and then holds him in her hand, pumps up and down a few times and watches as his brow furrows, as the muscles tense in his arms and stomach as he continues to hold himself over her, swallowing the saliva pooling in his throat as his erection hardens in her deliciously wonderful grip with each stroke from his balls to the tip, brushing her thumb over the head of his cock and wiping away beads of precum; he growls at a particularly harsh jerk of her wrist, and that just doesn't seem fair, that she's torturing him with rolling motions, wanking him off, so he does something about that, presses his palm against her clit harder, rubbing faster. A harsh gasp leaves her lips, hips jolting of their own accord. He keeps rubbing in small circles, faster, faster, harder, harder as her breathing becomes more labored and her hand starts falling out of rhythm as his picks up pace. His forehead pressed against hers, sharing the air between them, bodies glistening with a sheen of sweat.

"Oh God!" Regina shouts, back arching and Robin lifts his head away from hers, watches as her head tilts back, and she's slack jawed and moaning and keening with each motion of his palm over the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs. She lets go of him, fisting her hands in the sheets and biting down on her lower lip. Robin guides himself toward her entrance, gliding once through her sodden folds.

She's definitely ready for him now.

He helps her sit up and she groans in protest at the lost of contact at her clit, but then he's lifting up her nightgown and tossing it, freeing her breasts. She flops back, hair fanning out around her on a pillow, and Robin claims one of her hard nipples with his mouth, tugging, sucking, lavishing his tongue around in circles until he lets go with a wet pop. And then he's lining his cock up, sliding through her folds once, twice, three times and on the next thrust of his pelvis he fills her. She gasps and he hisses, and then he does it again, thrusts in and then out, in and then out, in and then out. One hand supporting his weight near her head, while the other palms her breast again, strumming his thumb over her nipple.

It's exquisite, sends shivers up and down her spine as he pulls out, just barely inside her, and then thrusts, stealing her breath away.

Regina shudders.

Robin does it again.

Oh god, it's amazing has her toes curling, a familiar thrum of pleasure building deep in her belly, tightening and tightening, and bringing her closer to the edge. She feels it starting, that pressure every time he hits that spot; it's making it hard for her to breath, blooms, blooms and blooming desire, his breathing visible, puffing out in little clouds as he watches her come undone beneath him. The stonewalls of the castle keeping in winter's cold air as they move together, moaning and gasping.

It's short, shorter than it usually is, because it's not about prolonging pleasure. It's about feeling each other, making sure they're both safe and here and present. It's about them and being alive and making sure the other knows they're loved.

And oh, how Robin wants to make sure Regina knows she's loved, urgent and eager to feel every inch of her, to make sure she's alive and well and not going to leave him.

"Regina– I'm gonna–"

"So close–" she gasps and _uhhh_s on his next thrust "so close– almost there."

But Robin's there already, muscles straining and shaking from trying to hold on, and he comes with a _unhh!_, hips jerking, rutting inside her and Regina whimpers because she's teetering on the edge, but not quite there; she's a live wire that hasn't been tripped, so he pulls out of her, kisses his way quickly down past her navel. He groans, seeing her slick and slippery with his cum, swirls his thumb over her clit, and that makes her hum, that makes her back arch off their bed. He inserts three fingers, pump, pump, pumping, curling and uncurling, hitting that spot that makes her body sing, bringing her to orgasm.

They fall asleep, sated and exhausted, but most importantly, in each other's arms.

Food forgotten on the nightstand.

Exactly where they belong.

* * *

Nights become warmer as snow caps melt and flowers start to bud through ice. Winter fades into spring and with the changing of seasons, Regina's conflicting fears about the baby and Henry are replaced with new ones the more her belly curves. Fears that are only getting worse. Her magic has been inconsistent, unreliable, fluxuating just as rapidly as her ever changing mood. When she does use it, it leaves her feeling weak, drained, sapped of energy. Robin and Granny have both told her they'll need to tell people about her condition soon. Chances are that some have probably already guessed. But she's insistent they keep it a secret for just a little bit longer. She's not in any grave danger. Though, Granny has chastised her countless times that if she doesn't relax, if she doesn't stop stressing about Zelena and Jakan and a faceless crone, who they've yet to identify, if she doesn't stop worrying, she won't carry to term.

It's hard, though, for her. Pushing away those still small voices in her head has never been easy. She carries them with her from morning till dusk, and even then, every time she drifts fitfully into slumberland the nightmares come.

_A crying infant, cobwebs and walls pressing in. Robin in a pool of blood, an arrow in his shoulder, glassy eyes. A cackle, the castle on fire, and darkness. Consuming, unending darkness and a shrill, earth-shattering scream._

Regina jolts upright in bed, awoken by another nightmare only an hour or two after she and Robin closed their eyes. He's still peacefully sleeping next to her, blanket rising and falling with his chest as he breathes, his light snoring the only thing she can hear besides the pounding of her heart in her ears. She sits on the edge of their bed for a minute, debating whether or not to cozy back up beside him, but she knows sleep won't come. Not for a while. Not even if she desperately wants it to. So she tiptoes over to her closet, throws on an evening robe and wanders out of their room, walking down the hallway, toward the west wing stairwell, through a corridor past the wine seller and outside into the gardens to get some fresh air.

She breathes in the crisp air and pulls her heavy robe more tightly around herself, trapping in some of the heat. Spring may be coming (another reminder that by the end of summer, she'll be holding a baby in her arms), but when the sun and the moon trade places at night, evening still peppers her skin with goosebumps. Exhaustion and fatigue tug at the dull ache in her back from the added weight she's been carrying around the last four months.

Wind rustles the barren hedges of the labyrinth as she pads through it to a familiar bench, sitting, listening to night's quiet, calming banter. The hoot of a Tawny Owl. Cricket legs rubbing together. A Wryneck's call in the branches of a nearby tree. It soothes her on evenings like this one where nightmares won't allow her to sleep.

A twinge lightly jabs at Regina's side, and she rolls her eyes in annoyance before rubbing there, her belly hidden beneath layers of clothing. She unfastens the sash at her hip, unveiling fabric to reveal the rounded curve of her belly. She really is starting to show now. Soon she won't be able to hide it behind fabric and heavy cloaks.

"What are you doing to me?" She whispers, palm easing away tension as she moves her hand back and forth, not at all talking about the dull aches and faint stretch marks creeping their way up on her skin.

She hasn't felt the baby kick yet, only a little thrum of energy and light quickening every now and then. Granny has assured her that's normal. Yawning as a gust of wind picks up and ruffles her hair, sending a chill down her spine, Regina decides to go back inside, back to her bed and Robin's warm arms and tight embrace. She stands and starts walking back the way she came until she has a sudden hankering for something else.

"Really?" She says, staring down at her concealed stomach. "Now? You're hungry now?" She's been doing this more often, without even realizing it. Talking to it when she's alone, and it may sound crazy, but she feels like it talks back. It's just a sensation she gets, no real words, just a feeling and then she knows. "Fine. If you must, we'll grab one on the way back to your daddy," she huffs, taking a different route, back through the courtyard, past the main gate and into the quad. She'll just head for the kitchens really quick for the apple pie Granny baked earlier, cut a slice (or two), and then sneak back into the room before Robin wakes up.

Regina opens a side door that leads to a corridor that splits to the kitchens and the dungeons. She's halfway down the hallway, when the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a shiver runs up her spine. She notices it's quiet. Too quiet. The flame of a torch mounted on the wall flickers, dancing as the dank air around her shifts.

Someone else is in here.

She hears them before she sees them. Hurried footsteps running toward her, she spins on her heel, fireball bursting in her palm, building a queasiness in the pit of her stomach, but she's not quick enough.

Something blue and black is blown in her face, a fine powder that has her coughing, lungs burning as she inhales, eyes stinging, watering, vision spinning and the flame in her hand sputtering out.

She coughs, coughs and coughs, temporarily off balance, catches herself on the wall. Hands shaking, vision still blurry when she opens her eyes and the shadow in front of her slowly comes into focus.

"'ello, yor majesty," a familiar voice greets, putting her on edge.

"Jakan." Regina stands up straight, hands out at her sides, robe billowing down, keeping her stomach out of view.

"Bet ya didn't fnk I'd be 'ere, did ya?"

"No, I'd quite hoped you learned your lesson last time," she says, clenching her teeth and wishing she'd listened to when Robin had said they should look into where the boys ran off to after their confrontation weeks ago. And then she frowns. "How did you get in?"

He laughs, too confident and boastful for her liking. Why isn't he as afraid of her as last time?

"Bit o' plannin' and ya sista's blood ta get passed the protection spell. But ya made it easy bein' here in da open. I didn't even 'ave to come find ay. Someone must be smilin' down on me." Jakan takes a step toward her, she takes one back, opening and closing her fist at her side, trying to ignite flame. _Why isn't it working? _"I was on me way ter yaaahr quarters," he waves a piece of parchment in her face, inked lines and notes in the margins. "Just needed ter follow dis right ter you. But now I don't 'ave to."

"Where did you get that? I'm not even sleeping in my old chambers, how did you know ... I'd be …" Jakan watches as the horrifying truth becomes evident on her face. "You had more than one person working inside the castle. That's how Alec escaped without being seen, how he was able to get the potion into the porridge. It changed between hands."

"'ave. We 'ave more van one person workin' inside da castle." Jakan smiles mockingly and takes another step toward her, she flings her hands out in front of her, expecting him to fly back but instead … nothing happens. "That won't work." He taunts, opening his fist. Remnants of the blue, black powder he blew in her face, falling to the floor.

"Jakan, you don't have to do this," Regina begins, alarm in her voice, because whatever comes next, she has nothing to defend herself. Just her words, so she starts with "I know how you must feel."

Mistake.

"No, ya don't!" He shouts, spit flying out of his mouth.

"I do," she says softly, hands out in front of her. "I do. I dream about them at night. All of them. I haven't been able to stop seeing their faces ever since the tavern; they're haunting me, begging for mercy where I gave none!", slowly backing up with each word that leaves her mouth. "I know what it's like to hold onto anger. I know what it's like to feel like it's all you have left," she pounds on her heart, "to feel broken and lost, to want to make everyone suffer the way you've suffered. To make people pay for what they've done to you. And I– I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry I did that to you. I'm sorry I ruined your life. If I could take it back ..." _Would she? _She thinks about everything she put him through, thinks about him as a little boy, grieving for his parents a few years before she cast the Dark Curse, about him having to re-live that pain and sorrow for nearly 30 years, frozen in time.

He has tears in his eyes, wipes at snot dripping out of his nose, and for a moment, he looks just like an older version of Roland or Henry. Looks like a child, who's experienced too much tragedy and buried his parents at far too young an age.

"You're just 'ryin' ter stop me! You don't care abaaaht me or me parents. You're not sorry!"

"No, I am. Jakan, I promise you, I–"

"NO!" He snarls, eyes bloodshot, nostrils flaring. "NO no no, you're just da Evil Queen. YOU'RE NOT SORRY!" And that's when Regina knows, there's no coming back from this, no convincing him otherwise, no amount of apologies can fix this or change how he feels about her. How he sees her. And to him, she's evil, through and through. His shoulders heave, and his breathing calms, remembering his mission. "Our mistress needs somethin' from you. And I'm supposed ter collect."

"And what exactly does your mistress want from me?"

For a moment, she thinks she sees remorse in his eyes, but then he's nodding and pointing toward her stomach, and her blood freezes in her veins.

"They're comin' for ya," he jeers; and she hears the heavy sound of footsteps echoing between stone walls in the stairwell up from the dungeons, the clanging of maille and armor getting louder and louder, her eyes widen in horror. The castle is under siege, and she's the treasure they've come to pilfer.

Magic won't save her today.

So she runs.

* * *

Robin's heart is racing, pounding in his chest, trying to break free when he gasps and startles out of a dead sleep. He's feels like he's running, out of breath, sweat on this temples, panic, fear, helplessness. He immediately jerks his head to the left where Regina should be sleeping, but she isn't. She's gone. Nothing but wrinkled sheets and a cold spot where she previously lay.

His heart pounds.

"Regina!" He jumps out of bed, yanking on his trousers and grabbing his bow and blade.

* * *

Jakan grabs a handful of her hair and pulls her head back. "Ya thought I wouldn't be back for ya," he bites softly. Looking into her face, he sneers, "They fnk you're so innocent, but I know da truth. It amazes me. Even after everythin' yew did, they're willin' ter forget … "Well, I 'aven't … I–" he breaks off as Regina elbows him in the rib cage.

She goes to run again, gets just a few paces ahead of him before he catches up, grabbing her arm, trying to pull her toward him, while she pushes herself away. The unsteady motion throws them both off balance, and they both fall. Regina cries out, before the air knocks out of her lungs and she struggles to breath, hitting the ground.

Hard.

Her head bangs against concrete, and she's dazed, tries to get up, struggles against the agony of the blow and the fear that turns her legs to water. She tries to rise to her feet, but a sharp pang shoots through her body and sends her crashing back to her knees.

"No, no, no," she breathes through clenched teeth, hand fretfully pushing away her robe and clinging to her belly.

"Not so powerful now, are you?" Jakan sneers, pushing himself up, while she's hunched over on the ground, one palm on the cold, hard ground beneath her, the other clutching at her stomach. She looks from side to side, they're in the hallway closest to the sleeping quarters. If she's lucky (which she never is), maybe someone will have heard.

Regina whimpers again as her side cramps and then looks up beneath her eyelashes at Jakan.

He doesn't care about what Mortianna or that stupid, green-faced witch said. He wants revenge, wants the Evil Queen's blood, wants her to pay, will make her suffer as she made him suffer. But just as he pulls back his leg and goes to put his full force into kicking her, he's grabbed from behind.

It's Much; he swiftly pulls Jakan toward him and hurls his fist into the former Merry Man's nose, breaking it on contact. Red flows, Jakan cries out, cursing and crying like the child that he is. Much punches him again, and this time Jakan crumples. Passed out on the floor.

Much shakes out his fist and says, "I've been wanting to do that for quite some time. Bloody prat."

"They're coming," Regina moans and his focus shifts to her. "There's more of them. Coming up through the hidden tunnels in the dungeons." He kneels down and easily scoops her up into his arms.

John and Tuck run up behind them, eye shifting to the unconscious lad. "What's happened? She alright?!" They ask in unison, directing their attention back to Regina cradled in Much's arms.

"We have to warn everyone the castle's under attack!" He shifts Regina in his arms.

John confirms, placing his hand on Much's shoulder. "We've got this. Get her and the little prince or princess checked out. We'll sound the alarm. Roland's with Granny in her room. I'll tell them to meet you in Regina and Robin's quarters."

They split up, and Much soothes into her ear "Almost there, Regina," as she moans again, fists her hand in his shirt.

"How'd you know where I was?"

"Didn't. Robin woke us all a short while ago in a panic, searching for you." Much hurries them over tiled stones, carrying her as quickly as he can. Her head falls against his chest, one arm curled around his neck, and she starts concentrating on the pain in her side, hones in on that radiating ache that has fear coursing through her veins. "Something about that connection you two seem to have."

A smile inches its way onto her lips.

"Why didn't you just flay the arse like I know you can."

"I don't have my magic." His shocked expression has her following with, "It's just temporary. As soon as it's back, I'm going to flatten every idiot who thought storming the Evil Queen's castle would be a good idea."

He uses his back to push open her bedroom door, cross the room and sets her on the chaise. She shifts uncomfortably, hands probing gingerly at her side and over her belly – the area tender and likely already beginning to bruise. Taking a shaky breath, she looks up at Much.

"Thank you." Regina reaches out for his hand and squeezes. There's more on the tip of her tongue, more she wants to tell him, _thank you for believing in me, thank you for trusting me, for having my back, for seeing in her what Robin sees_, but she doesn't have a chance to say any of that, not before Snow comes rushing in, breathing heavily, sword in hand and the Blue Fairy and Ruby quickly following behind her.

"Regina!" Snow shouts, hurrying over and kneeling on the ground, hand outstretched to see what's wrong. She looks to Much for answers and he tells her quickly about the attack, and then Regina winces again, and Snow looks at Blue.

"Help her!" She commands, and the shock shows clear as day on Blue's tiny fairy face. Her wings flutter furiously as she scowls at the panicked princess. "She's in pain and you can make it go away. Help her, please."

Regina groans as she sits up straighter, chuckling darkly as she says, "Don't bother, dear. She's never been one to do me any favors, not even when I needed it most." She scowls at Blue, her brow furrowed and sweat gleaming on her temples.

There's an unspoken history between them, years of pent up bitterness that's festered and grown into a touch of loathing that was born the day this fairy decided Regina wasn't worth saving. She really doesn't want her help, and she certainly doesn't want her anywhere near her or her child (the child she can tell is anxious and just as worried as its mother – worried – but otherwise still safe, unharmed. Elemental magic may not be accessible to Regina at the moment due to the ground up aster powder currently blocking her powers, but she can still sense the baby's energy thrumming inside her, lightly radiating out and letting her know it's okay).

"I wouldn't want her coming near me anyway," Regina mutters, adjusting her robe to make sure her belly is still out of sight, and it's a good thing too, because by the looks of it, Blue was just about to reluctantly approach her – ever the obedient bitch at Snow or Charming's beck and call.

Snow frowns and notices the way Much continues to hover just behind the Queen, refusing to leave her side. Robin's men have been particularly protective of her as of late, more so than usual, and Snow knows that it's partly because of her budding relationship with their leader, but there has to be more, there has to be another reason, because Regina is plenty capable of taking care of herself. Snow just can't figure out what it is that has them up and arms and ready to die for her. "Regina, please, be reasonable," Snow starts, reaching out to grasp her hand, but Regina shakes her off.

"I'm fine," she barks, a little more harshly than she intended, but she needs Snow to stop, she needs Blue to get away from her. If the fairy, someone who was supposed to protect good and innocence, was willing to condemn a young girl to a life of misery because of her mother's sins, a young girl whose life could have drastically changed had she been shown what real happiness and love looked like, if the fairy could turn her back on her because of Cora, then what would she do if she found out Regina is pregnant.

"I'll make sure she's alright," Much assures. And there it is again - that devotion and loyalty that Snow's been seeing in each of the Merry Men lately.

Snow nods, and then seems to remember what's happening outside the walls of this room. She's about to tell them that David, Robin and a group of soldiers are fighting near the battlement, that it looks like they might win, even with the surprise ambush. She's about to tell them that Robin couldn't concentrate not knowing where Regina was, that she offered to find her and make sure she was safe, but then Granny barges in with Roland, and the moment he sees Regina, he wiggles himself out of Widow Lucas' arms and runs to her.

"Gina!" He shouts, hugging her, little hands fisting in her robe as she envelops him, wraps her arms around him snugly and kisses the top of his head.

"Roland," she brushes his curls away from his face and touches her nose to his. "Hello, my little knight," she cooes, breathing in the soft scent of his hair, holding him close to her.

"Gina, Papa was scared. He came to my room and took me to Granny, and he said he needed to find you. But you're here. You're okay. Are you okay?"

She sighs, the ache in her side nearly gone, though, her head is still pounding, a huge knot already forming under her hair. "I'm okay," she assures him. She meets Granny's gaze. She'll need to talk to her after this, and just to be safe, she should probably also finally talk to Doc. Even if she still hasn't forgiven him for resetting her rips so harshly.

Regina kisses Roland on the nose, ruffles his curls and sets him on the ground, thinking about his papa fighting outside. "They need our help." She moves to the chest at the foot of her bed and opens it, pulling out a sword and handing it to Much. There's a crossbow in there as well, and she gives that to Granny. "They think they can come in here and take our home, we'll show them they're wrong."

"Do you think that's wise, Your Majesty?" Blue says in an annoyingly squeaky voice. Her eyes narrow and she hones in one Regina's stomach. "You don't appear to be … yourself."

But Regina ignores her, instead bends over to pull another sword from its scabbard and then cries out in pain again, clutching at her arm. Much runs over and opens her cloak. Roland cowers in between Granny's legs. Much pulls away Regina's fingers and there's blood and a gash slashed down her shoulder. He stares at her in shock.

"I don't understand … how … " And then the gash is gone, just a faint stinging left in its wake.

"Robin …" Regina whispers, and she tries to run back, grabs a sword and pushes Much away from her, but Snow's there in his place, grabbing shoulders and opening her robe more widely for all of them to see.

"Regina," Snow says it so quietly, she's barely sure she even said it at all. Her eyes are wide in shock and her mouth is hanging open. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We don't have time for this, dear. Right now, your precious Charming and my– and Robin are fighting a battle that isn't theirs." She pushes Snow's hands away and turns around.

"No! You don't have your magic," Much yells, but he sees the fight in her eyes, the fear and the anger. She'll do whatever it takes to get to his leader. He sees that. Sees the lion in her, and he admires that, has always admired that so he nods and says, "Fine. I've got your back, you've got mine."

"Alright," Regina agrees, but Snow apparently doesn't because she's grabbing Regina by the arm, and why are people always doing that, why are they always trying to force her to do something she doesn't want to do? "STOP, SNOW!"

And that stops her, makes her drop her hands in defense, but it doesn't prevent the words that she wants to say from slipping past her lips. "Regina, please. You can't go out there. I'm just trying to do what's best for–"

"No, he's my family. Robin's–" she looks down at the scared four-year-old and places her hand on her stomach. "He's our family, and as long as I'm breathing, I won't abandon him or leave him to fight my battles. Regardless of whether or not I'm _pregnant_. Now you can help me or you can stay here, but whether you like it or not, I'm going." She doesn't even pause to say, "Granny, make sure he's–"

"Of course, girl," she says, picking Roland up and holding him tightly in her arms. "I'll protect your cub, you protect your lion."

Regina chuckles darkly. My how things have changed. She and Much run together, back to the fight that's raging outside. Magic may be her strong suit, but she's fought and waged wars enough times during her reign as Queen to be just as deadly with steel as she is with fire.

* * *

It's like watching an intricate dance. Blades clashing. Blood spilling. Men and women falling, feld by daggers and arrows and spears. Parapets ablaze. Smoke pluming up and into the night sky. Everything slow down, everything speeding up. Shouts and cries. Opponents fighting, pushing, trying to maintain the upper hand. Snow fights to get to her Charming's side. Ruby's eyes glow and swiftly shifts into claws and teeth and fur, ripping out someone's throat as she goes.

Chaos is everywhere that Much and Regina turn. The two of them have each other's backs. They fight knowing the other is behind them, ready to take on a blow that the other might not see. Two partners in a dance. When they get to the bailey, haystacks are on fire, horses are set free and galloping in a panic toward the main gate. And that's when she see him, when she spots Robin up on the curtain wall, knocking back arrow after arrow, letting them zing through the air. His shoulder is cut, but it's not stopping him.

* * *

Jakan's stumbling through the bailey when he sees her, sword cutting down men like they're nothing, slicing through necks and stabbing through their chests like they mean nothing.

He sees red. No longer concerned with what the Wicked Witch wants or what his aunt wants or what Nottingham wants. What about what _he_ wants? _She killed his family, burned his village to the ground. He was just a boy! She stole everything from him! _And he only sees evil when he looks at her, and evil gets what evil deserves. He watches as the Evil Queen fells another one of his mates.

He sees red.

* * *

"Regina!" Much shouts and she whirls around, but it's too late. The dagger flying at her, the hilt of it pointing back toward the boy whose life she ruined. The one with a bloody broken nose and malice dripping off of him with each drop of crimson.

Time slows.

Her life flashes before her eyes, and she thinks of Henry, Robin, Roland and the baby. Of the little girl she'll never get to know. She thinks of Snow and David. Emma and Granny.

Things stand still. This is it.

A blood curdling scream rings through the air and Much's words echo in her head.

_I've got your back. You've got mine. _

Jakan's eyes go wide. Much looks down where dark crimson is staining his tunic, blade buried in his belly. And time speeds back up. Regina collapses to her knees, catching Much as he falls. _No no no no no! _Robin hears her, hears her scream, sees her down on the ground next to a body that he can't quite make out, and he runs, shouts _Regina!, _notching back another arrow to take out the man that's stalking toward her, but then Nottingham comes out of nowhere, bow of his own drawn and ready, and he meets Robin's gaze.

They're talking, she can't hear them, they're too far away, but then something changes. Robin's stance goes from being cautious to being tense and filled with rage. She sees him pull back his arrow and is helpless to stop what happens next, can only scream "NO!" but it's too late.

Robin's arrow flies, but it ricochettes past Regina, missing his intended target, his bow clatters on the ground, his balance off, his aim altered by a force shooting into his chest. Nottingham lowers his hands as Robin stumbles back, hitting the curtain wall's edge in between two creners. Regina screams. Someone hits her on the back of the head, and her vision fades to black.

* * *

Everything aches. It's dark. Warm. So warm. He's sweating. Hair sticking to his pasty brow. His mouth is dry, and he can't swallow very well. Not without the help of spit; and his lips are cracked, sting when he tries to open his mouth.

"_Hello brother," Nottingham snarls._

"_Andrew?" Robin stutters. "You did this?" He keeps his aim pointed at Jakan, unsure of where to look or what to do. Why isn't Regina using her magic to protect herself?! Robin shouts her name again, and she looks up at him. Tears in her eyes, grime on her face, blood on her hands. "I don't understand … you're working with … the crone?" It hits him. The Weeping Woods. His brother's disappearance. Andrew working with Mortianna all those years ago during the rebellion with Gisborne. _

_And Marian. Andrew's jealousy, his rage, their family feud and realizing Marian would never pick him over Robin. His brother becoming the Sheriff of Nottingham. _

"_That hasn't been my name in a long time, and you know it," his brother says, arrow still pointed at him. "Now you've a choice to make, **brother**," he bites, "save yourself or save the bitch. What's it going to be? We both know that you couldn't save your first love. Is this one supposed to be a replacement, a pretty thing between your legs? Oh, how we have plans for her."_

Robin feels heavy, like he's sink, sink, sinking into … something soft, warm, something that's suffocating him, burying him deep, deep and deeper into … what? He blinks, ever so slowly, tries to open his eyes and focus on his surroundings, but he only sees spots – black, blurry spots that cloud his vision and wash out the figures coming closer to wherever he is. He goes to lift his right hand up to rub at his eyes, but there's pain, so much pain, burning through his upper chest, near his clavicle.

"_And the plans we have for your child." _

_That gets his attention, Robin tenses, hands gripping more tightly to his bow. _

"_Oh, I see I've hit a sensitive subject. Did you think Mortianna wouldn't know, that she wouldn't sense the moment the prophecy came true? Tell me, brother, have you told the Evil Queen yet that you've known this whole time about the prophecy of the lion and the Queen?" _

_Robin tenses more, shifts on his feet. _

_Nottingham chuckles. "You haven't. I thought as much. What's the matter? Afraid to tell her of what that child will do if it's born? Of the power it'll give men. Well, don't you worry. We have plans for your bastard as well. And that boy down there, he's going to help us get it."_

_Not if he can help, he thinks. He knows he doesn't have time to turn and kill his brother first. He won't be quick enough, but he can take out Jakan. He can try to save Regina and their child. Focusing his attention back on Regina on the other side of the bailey, he quickly aims but Nottingham reads him. Shoots to kill first. The arrow forces him back, makes him miss his target. _

_Nottingham stalks toward him. "You failed," he whispers into Robin's ear, twisting the arrow and it grates against bone, and then he heaves his little brother over the wall. _

Robin hisses as his stomach muscles tense in response, remembering the harsh impact of water as he fell to certain death, only to be welcomed by cold and darkness. He inches his other hand toward his face instead, drags his fingers over his eyelids and flutters them open. Everything is blurry again, until it's not. It clears. And for the first time, his fog addled mind registers the four poster bed he's lying on. He blinks again, and his vision expands, taking in the concerned yet relieved faces of Widow Lucas, Snow and David.

"Robin?" Snow says his name cautiously, like she's trying to gauge how alert he is at the moment. And he's not very - alert. Everything still feels … well, like a little bit of everything. His fingertips feel numb as if they were waking up after being held in the same position for a long time, flexing and twitching as pins and needles prickle at them as blood flushes; and his head aches. It's pounding. He can hear a drum beating in it, and it won't stop. Just keeps beating and beating and beating. "Robin?" Snow says again. "Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?"

What kind of a question is that? Of course he knows where he's at. He looks around, stares at their furrowed brows and tense gazes. On the opposite wall behind Widow Lucas is a huge tapestry with embroidered horses on it, so he knows. He's in Regina's chambers. Their chambers. He goes to say as much, but the words won't come. Why won't the words come? And how did he get here?

Panic sets in, his chest hurts, flares and then he remembers the arrow, and Andrew, and Regina on the floor next to Much just before he fell, Regina shouting his name, he tries to get up, panics, where are Roland and Regina? Where are his men?

"Roland– and Regina– where are they? How long–" He clears his throat. "How long have I been unconscious? And Much? I saw– I think he–" Robin knows the fate of his mate without needing to finish that thought. He remembers the dagger sticking out of his back, the way the hilt of the blade reflected moonlight. Funny what the mind chooses to remember, what tiny details it clings to. "How many others? How many others did we lose?" He turns to look at them, and then he realizes they still haven't answered his first question.

"Where are Roland and Regina?" He asks, voice become more clear and strong.

David and Snow look at each other knowingly and sympathy reaches their eyes.

"Roland is fine. He's with the Merry Men. Ruby dove in after you and pulled you from the moat shortly after you fell over the wall. There weren't that many casualties on our side. We were lucky. It was Nottingham and his …" But David's words are all starting to blur and a high pitch ringing fills Robin's ears.

Roland is fine. But the Prince has made no mention of Regina. In fact, Robin's sure he's avoiding her name altogether. Dread fills him, his heart starts pounding again, so loudly he can hear it in his head.

_Thud thud thud. _

"Where's Regina?" It's a whisper. So low, no one hears. David is still talking about damage to the castle and how they wrapped Much's body and gave him a proper burial. Flaming arrow and floating boat down the river. But Robin can't hear him, isn't listening past the panic and frustration that Regina still has not been mentioned.

_Thud thud thud. _

"Where's Regina?" He asks again. And still no one answers.

_Thud thud thud. _

So he raises his voice, says it a third time, "Where's Regina?!" He shakes his head a bit, and it makes him dizzy, spins the room in a god awful way that has his stomach churning and his eyes closing.

"Robin," Snow begins, coming up next to him and placing her hand on top of his. But he doesn't want that, nor does he want the way she's looking at him. Unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "She's ... gone. Regina's gone. They took her … but we'll get her back."

It sucker punches him in the gut and _No! I'ave to find her I have to get to her, she's _– He can't hear what else Snow attempts to tell him. He can't. He hears red. He sees red. He tastes red. Everything is red. Red is pounding inside his head. Not at them. At himself. At the fear. At his brother. At the men who took Regina from him. At the men who now have his … friend and lover and mother of his unborn child in their midst. He sees red.

_Red red red._

And he has to find her, has to get to her, tries to get up but the pain. The pain shoots up his arm and into his shoulder.

"Don't be a fool," Widow Lucas says as Robin attempts to shove her off him, but the slight pressure of his wrist barely pushing against her shoulder lances a sharp, shooting heat up his arm straight to torn muscles and nerves and skin, flaring up the searing agony he felt moments ago upon waking. That and her hands guiding him back down to the pillow and into the warm comfort of furs convinces him to not try and get up again. "You're in no shape to go after her. You go now, and you'll just end up food for the beetles and maggots."

"I'm already going," David assures him, clapping on his knee. "We sent scouts. We know where they're keeping her. I'll bring her home, Robin. _Both_ of them." Robin's eyes water and he blows out a shaky breath. They know. Good, that saves him from having to explain, saves his lungs and diaphragm from having to expand anymore than they have to. He's pretty sure that on top of everything else, his ribs are broken, because each inhale and exhales burns. "You have my word," David promises, without a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Before Neverland, before that day in the stables when he saw a vulnerability in Regina unlike any he'd ever seen before, before the first curse broke and waging wars and trying to stay alive amongst warring kingdoms and political play, before all that he couldn't have imagined that one day he'd be telling a valued friend, telling a man that clearly loves a woman once known as the Evil Queen that he'd die before he let anything happen to her. But he would. It's the absolute truth, and that realization takes him by surprise.

For a long time now (regardless of the jokes and snide remarks and hard time that he constantly gives her), David has considered Regina family. He's not sure when it happened exactly, but it has and she is.

And no one – no one – gets away with hurting his family.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own them. Just the blood and sweat and tears that went into writing this.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Oh dear goodness, you guys have no idea how happy I am that this chapter is DONE. Work has been crazy, life has been insane, but this chapter is FINISHED. YAY. Big thank you to all the lovelies who kept me sane, listened to me drag my feet while kicking and screaming, and calmed me down from writer crazies. Writing is WORK, ya'll. But I love it. Without further ado, chapter 14.

**Sinking into Shadow and Holding onto the Light**

Wind whips between skeletal trees, spindly branches and through an unhinged door propped open, weaving its ghostly way into a dank corridor, seeping through cracks, crevices as it tries but fails to find its way back out into sunlight, into fresh air and sunshine. Instead, it's trapped inside Nottingham's dungeon, knocks against weathered stone, slowing until it's as dead as the dried straw on the mud-caked ground. Cold, wet clings to stale air, beetles skitter – beady, little, black things digging in the dirt beneath the sore-covered feet of moaning men, burrowing their sticky beetle legs into morsels of stale bread and rancid feces mucking up the floor.

Putrid. Filth. Everywhere.

Grime, mess, slim, creatures that crawl and creep. Unseen things that gnaw at flesh still on bone, bite and irritate while prisoners attempt to sleep. If they can sleep. If sleep will come. If they are of the few who succumb to darkness and chance a reprieve from the tortures of daylight.

Daylight that's marked, timed by the jailor rattling his metal keys. Metal rattling against metal while he plods past cell after cell, grinning wickedly at each peasant, sniveling man or ruffian behind locked bars until he pauses. Stops. Shifts his weight on the worn soles of his boots, his broken laces sopping up muddy water as he chooses his next victim.

Regina hates him. This balding, sweltering man who lurks in front of her cell for the longest each day he does as he's paid to do – taunt, tease, torture – peering in through the rusted bars of her cage. He leers, sways to and fro a bit, ever so slightly, before he sniffles, hocks up phlegm – a harsh, wet sound rattling his throat – and spits, putting his back into it.

He's close enough that his spittle lands and soaks into the dirt near her feet.

Not on her. Never on her.

But it's near enough that she knows, if he chose to, if he wanted to, he could.

Their eyes meet, the corner of his mouth inches up and he makes a sound she assumes is a laugh, a ghastly, rasp stuck deep in his chest. He grinds his teeth, tips his head in a half-assed bow and grumbles, "Your majesty," while stopping in front of her cell. He hocks up phlegm, rears his head back and spits; it lands near the edge of her cot and he grins, pleased with himself. His snarl like smile brings his yellowed teeth into view and they roll her stomach. She swallows saliva pooling in her mouth and turns her cheek to him, staring at the wall, eyes tracing over cracks, crevices and cobwebs.

She refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm or glare in disgust. She may be behind bars, but she's not a weak damsel, nor a terrified girl stuck in a corner, left to die, left to ponder her fate. She's… more than that, but less than what she was a week ago without her magic, precious stone or diamond encrusted corsets. She hasn't any feathers, polished suits or steam-pressed slacks to hide behind.

No masks, no fronts. Just her. Behind bars.

It dawned on her when she woke up on this hard cot days ago that this situation she finds herself in is an awful lot like one from a few decades ago, when she sat in a cage just like this one in the prison beneath Snow and David's castle, awaiting her execution on a wooden stool while watching the flickering flame of a candle. Powerless then as well, biding her time, lying in wait for an escape, a glimmer of hope that was never going to come.

The jailor spits once more before moving four cells down from hers. She hears the shouting before his key turns in a lock, the usually loud click drowned out by a panicked shout.

"No, no, please, no! I didn't do anything, please! Have mercy! Tell the crone I didn't do anything! Tell Nottingham, please, no no no! I have a family! I–"

The jailor chuckles darkly, and Regina feels sorry for the unknown man on the other side of strangled wailing. Not everyone here is guilty of a crime. They're not all imprisoned for thieving, murdering or bribing. They aren't here to pay penance for wrongdoings.

Some of them, most of them if she's honest with herself, are innocent.

His cries get louder as he's dragged out of his cell; she can hear the man's feet shuffling against the ground, and as the jailor stalks passed her corner of hell, her eyes briefly connect with terrified, blue orbs. The man shouts for her to help him as he digs his heels into the dirt. It makes things worse for him. The jailor jerks on his arm harder and a sickening pop rips through the air.

Regina turns her head, curls into a fetal position and muffles a moan into the straw pillow beneath her face, head pounding, stabbing pressure between her eyes, the dank, musty air making her dizzy.

She doesn't want to think about him, about his pleas for mercy, the agony and desperation in his voice. It's like getting a front row seat to the horrific things she used to do to prisoners, like men or women she thought were aiding Snow. She put them in cages, like beasts to be tortured, _animals_ to be tamed and broken. Visions of nameless peasants hanging at the gallows, the guillotine, piled up in pits fill her vision. Guilt chokes her like tar coating a pit, slow and quick all at the same time, making it hard for her to breathe. Her breaths come out in hasty, little pants as brutal truths expose themselves.

This man's doom is coming, her doom is coming. Just as it came for the person who sat in this cell before her – mercy and escape far out of reach as she rots in this godforsaken hell hole.

The Sheriff, whom Regina learned is actually Robin's long lost brother, is working with a crone named, Mortianna, and Zelena. But she still doesn't know why they've banded together.

She chuckles darkly, and then her voice cracks as she sucks in a sharp gasp.

"Oh, Robin," she whispers, hugging herself tighter as a chill whips through the room. The very thought of him makes bile rise up in the back of her throat, forces her to try and swallow it down. Its something she's done an awful lot of in the last few days, stomach twisting in knots, a burning in her gut that matches the one in her chest. She replays the last time she saw Robin over and over and over again in her mind. Him up on the lower bailey, facing Nottingham, his arrow notched and… then it's all a blur, a haze of shouting, arrows flying, Nottingham pushing Robin over the wall as she held onto Much's collar while blood seeped out of his belly. Robin disappeared out of sight, a flash of red, a searing pain at the back of her skull, and then...

Nothing.

Not until she woke up here to Nottingham slouched in a chair outside her cell, plenty of distance between himself and the bars. Regina grinds her teeth, thinking about the gloating, smug, snide look on his face. She misjudged him when she met him unknowingly in the village market all those months prior, took him for a coward, a drunk; and though those things are still true of him, she hadn't expected him to be Robin's brother.

How could she?

She hadn't even known until he told her proudly, unwisely trying to goad her, bold enough to call her the victim, prey caught by its predator. Though, not brave enough to get close to the bars. He kept plenty of distance between himself and her, perfectly aware (as she was) that if it weren't for the cage separating them, or the spell Zelena placed on this prison to keep her magic at bay, their roles would've been reversed, and she hated him for that. Hates him still. Hates the victory she saw gleaming in his eyes as she stood up quickly and tried to conjure a fireball only for her palm to remain barren. Hates the way he dared to call Robin a low life, scum on his boot that he'd never have to deal with again, hates the way he rubbed dirt in an open wound by bringing up Roland and the child in her belly.

Regina swallows rising bile again, claws at her throat as she sucks in shaky breath after shaky breath, fingers clutching tightly at the layer of fabric over her stomach. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, brings her knees up and leans against the stone wall, looking up at the tiny window in her cell. Brambles, vines and thorns blocking most of the opening, suffocating what little rays of sunshine attempt to break in. It's been… she tries to count on her fingers. Eight days, now… or 10? Has it been a two weeks?

Days and nights bleed together, hours marked by the uneasy rumbling of her stomach, reminders that she can't waste away. She's not alone, even if this is the most alone she's ever felt.

The jailor drags the screaming prisoner by the cuff of his torn collar toward torture devices shackled to walls, to knifes and a butcher's block, to ropes and chains, waiting to be used, begging for their next victim. The two of them disappear down the corridor, screams echoing and then dying out. The jailor will be gone for awhile now; he likes to draw out his time with the prisoners, takes pleasure in bleeding them dry, breaking bones and tearing muscle until life gives way to nothing. Besides, if she's right, if the rays of sunlight illuminating specks of dust in the air are any indication then the sun is slipping down past the horizon again which means…

The hinge of a door squeaks and heels clack on concrete stone.

Zelena has come to her twice, proud and cruel and annoying, talking to her about Mother, their history, Rumplestiltskin, all the things her green _sister_ thinks she's taken for granted (she doesn't need the reminder. She's spent plenty of her life squandering away what little good she had, never appreciating it as much as she should have until it was far too late. Why would this be any different?). Zelena taunts her during her visits, always tiptoeing around exactly what she wants from Regina, but never revealing more.

Her blood runs hot again, tears prick at her eyes, and she shudders a breath. Plotting her revenge in her head does nothing to cease the waves of agony rolling inside of her.

Robin is still dead.

She is still alone; though, the soft pulse of energy within her reminds her that she isn't. Not really. A sharp pang shoots up her arm straight to her chest, and she whimpers, curling in on herself a little more.

There are worse things than being alone.

The clacking of heels gets louder down the hallway, out of sight, and Regina is quick to roll over, even though the fast movement makes her migraine worse, makes it pound, pound, pound against the inside of her skull.

By the time her visitor comes into view, Regina's sitting on the stool next to her cot, knees crossed, hands folded in her lap, back straight.

"How is my favorite sister this evening? Are you warm enough? Comfortable? Is your belly full?" Regina watches as Zelena gazes around at her sister's meager surroundings, eyes falling on the wooden bowl filled with untouched gruel and half a loaf of stale bread on the small plate next to it. Zelena _hmmm_s, disapprovingly, flicks her pointer finger up and the paltry meal transforms into a hot stew.

Venison, potatoes, spices, parsnips, the savory aroma wafts up toward Regina's nose and her stomach grumbles, then lurches, a sickly pallor washing over her already pale face as she rubs her hand over her uneasy stomach on instinct, trying to quell the suddenly overwhelming urge to vomit. "Wouldn't want my little niece to starve just because her mother's a stubborn one, now would we?"

Regina glares up at her beneath heavy eyelashes, eyes prickling with tears, bile rising up in the back of her throat, threatening to make her heave. She imagines she's quite the picture right now – dark circles under her eyes, hair back in a long, low ponytail, palm still rubbing subconsciously over a slight bump concealed beneath her gray smock. She should be rounded, stomach fuller, cheeks filled out more, but she hasn't been able to keep anything down. Zelena waves her fingers and a fresh, gray dress and undergarments appear in her hands while she continues to jab at her sister's appearance, but Regina refuses to respond, bites her lip instead then says, "What do you want, Zelena?" sitting up higher on the wooden stool, straightening her shoulders, aware of how similar this feels to a time long ago when she sat in a cell just like this one, having an entirely different conversation with Snow. What she wouldn't give to be with Snow and the rest of her family instead of here. "Don't you grow tired of visiting someone who doesn't want to see you? Because if I wasn't clear before… I don't." Her reply is sharp, unforgiving, bitter. Loathing at the end of every word. "Not yesterday. Not today. Certainly not tomorrow. So do us both a favor, and stop wasting your breath."

Zelena clicks her tongue against her teeth. _Tsk, tsk, tsk. _"Always so quick to shoo me away, little sis. Didn't our mother ever teach you any manners? What would Cora say if she saw you here right now? I mean, look at you, Regina. A mere shadow of your former self."

"And why is that I wonder? Who could possibly be to blame for… this," she sneers, waving her hand at her current surroundings.

Zelena chuckles and waves her hands out in front of her. "Regina, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"_You_ came after me, _you_ attacked me," she points out, straightening her back and beginning to go on the defensive. God she's exhausted, so unbelievably drained, and Regina really doesn't want anything to do with Zelena today; she's doesn't have the desire to fight back at the moment. So she says what she knows will get Zelena riled up the most, and hopefully angry enough that she'll leave in a fury. "Because you were _jealous_, because your life was _so hard,_" sarcasm dripping between each pause, "Newsflash, Zelena, the perfect life you think I had… well it wasn't. You have no idea what I lost, what I–"

"Oh, enough with your whining, Regina. You knew her, she wanted you," Zelena comes up to the bars, her gloved hands gripping around rusted iron. "Mother's prized pony," she spits out. "You had everything, and it was supposed to be mine! You're drowning in sorrow, wasting your life away over some petty thief and the love you think you lost, but Mother only did what was best for you." She spins away, turns her back on Regina, her arms outstretched, gesturing toward their surroundings while a malevolent bubble of glee slips passed her red painted lips. "It's what I'm doing too. If she were here, she'd thank me for orchestrating that backwoodsman's death."

"She would have ruined you! That's what she did. She took good things and she soiled them. You think I was better off, you think losing my first true love was what was best for me, but it wasn't. It nearly killed me and everyone I cared for. You have no idea what she was really like!" Regina practically springs off her cot – heart pounding, blood boiling – and rushes the bars, her face coming up as close as she can get to Zelena. "And I swear to God, I will make you pay for what you did to Robin."

Zelena chuckles, throwing her head back and then hums happily. "And how will you do that while rotting in this cage?" She saunters over to her, brings her hands up to the bars again, leans in closer and whispers, "You're not leaving here unless I let you, and unfortunately for you – fortunately for me – I'm not finished with you quite yet." She giggles wickedly as her eyes glance down at Regina's stomach, the curve of it much more prominent while she stands. "I have plans for you, little sis, and for the bastard growing in your belly. So enjoy this time you have with her, because you don't have much left," she sneers, and her cold eyes make Regina feel bare. It sends a shiver up her spine and seeps fear into her bones. "As soon as my beloved niece is born.. she's mine."

Fear is overpowered by a boiling fury and Regina snarls, "Over my dead body."

Zelena smiles and then replies, "Good, because _that_, Regina dear, has already been arranged." She steps closer, face centimeters away now and notes, "I have you exactly where I want you, dearie. Weak, powerless, alone."

"You won't get away with this," Regina snaps.

"Oh, but I already have," Zelena swiftly reaches up, caresses her cheek with the back of her hand and then grasps her face, her nails dig into Regina's skin as she continues with "dearest sister" and then tips her head back with a cackle before disappearing in a cloud of green smoke. The sudden release on her jaw makes Regina stumble back; she tries to catch herself, grabs at the bars in front of her and then quickly hisses, clutching her wrist as she catches her balance and glaring down at her widespread palm.

Blood beads upon her skin from where rusted metal cut into her flesh, and she sinks to her knees - alone once more with nothing but blood on her hand, the baby growing in her belly, and plaguing thoughts of everything she's already lost.

Henry, Daniel, her father… Mother… now Robin and the future she was foolish enough to believe they had together in the first place. Another happy ending ripped from her fingers.

She stares at the line of red now running down her palm and clenches her teeth, a familiar fire burning bright in her eyes as anger seethes from her pores. She won't let Zelena win; she won't let her have this baby. She'll make her pay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but she _will_ get out of here, and she _will_ get her revenge.

For Robin, for Roland, for the child growing inside her that'll never know its father.

For Much.

For all of them.

She'll get back to Snow, and the Merry Men, and the rest of the _ragtag_ group that have become like family to her, and she will make that green bitch wish she'd never been born.

* * *

Two weeks have come and gone since Robin last saw Regina, since he last held her in his arms and rubbed calming circles over her back while he told her everything was going to be alright, that everything was going to be okay. He rotates his shoulder and winces, healing layers of skin and muscle taut and sore. It'll be weeks yet before he's able to properly wield a bow. He shakes his head (even that makes his shoulder throb), pads over to the chair where his tunic is neatly draped over it.

Snow probably put it there, she's taken it upon herself to check in on him, to see how he's doing, how he's coping, and truthfully, he isn't doing well. And how can he be when he promised Regina that everything would be alright, when it isn't.

"Shit," he mumbles under his breath, dark circles under his eyes, skin a pale pallor. David had taken John, Tuck, Ruby, Tink and five knights with him into the depths of the Weeping Wood nearly 10 days ago, armed with enough blades, fairydust bombs and arrows to wipe out a small army, enough to storm his brother's keep and bring Regina home.

He could only hope, pray that she… that Andrew hadn't… Gods help him, if his brother hurt Regina...

No, no thinking like that. They'll find her, and they'll bring her home. She's strong, resilient.

Though, that's exactly what Robin is worried about the most – her strength and stubbornness combined that often lead her into life-threatening predicaments. When he met her, she'd been burying her heart in the woods, dirt smudged nightshift, leaves in her hair. The second time he met her, she'd been unconscious, tied to a pole in his camp. He's thinking about the time he pulled her body from the river, and the conversation he'd be more than happy to have with his brother, as he laces his boots and makes his way toward one of the winding staircases that leads down to an open courtyard.

Fresh air hits his face, immediately soothes his senses, calming him. He takes in deep breath after deep breath, savoring the smell of the surrounding forest, wind carrying the new scent of Yellow Trillium and Hellebore.

Spring is most certainly coming.

It takes him a few minutes more to get to the stables, stretching his legs, filling his lungs with air that isn't stale from being holed up inside castle walls. Granny is there, just like she said she would be with Roland, grooming one of the smaller Geldings from withers to croup.

Roland is standing on a wooden step stool with his back to him, but he pauses when he hears his papa's footsteps and turns, his tiny fingers dwarfed by the comb in his palm.

"Papa!" Roland shouts, jumping down from his little perch, his boots hitting the dirt with a soft thump. He drops the comb and runs to him, but just before he's about to jump off the ground and into Robin's arms, Granny pipes up with a swift warning to halt the tiny lad in his tracks.

"Roland!" He skids to a stop, shoulders tensing, back a bit hunched as he slowly angles his head around to look at Widow Lucas. "You have to be careful with your papa, little cub," she gruffs, straightening her glasses to peer Robin up and down from above clear lenses. "He's still healing."

"So they keep telling me." Robin rolls up his sleeves and couches down. "But I'd like to hug my son. Come here, my boy," he says, grinning and holding out his arms, even though there's a twinge of protest from his shoulder; it's a twinge he can manage. A twinge means he's alive to feel, means he can hold his child in his arms and breathe in the soft, sweet scent of his downy hair. Robin sighs, gives Roland a tight squeeze before releasing him, holding him at arms length. "Do you like that pony?" He asks, nodding toward the Gelding chewing on straws of hay and feed.

"Yes, Papa! Regina gave him to me!" Roland beams, face lighting up, apple cheeks rosy and bright and then his eyes darken, his brow furrows. His voice is quiet when he asks, "Papa, when's Regina coming back? She promised to teach me how to ride him."

_Regina. _

Robin's face falls. Roland's a child, it's not his son's responsibility to carry his papa's burdens, fears, worries… so instead of voicing his uncertainty, Robin turns down the collar of his son's tunic, saying, "John and Tuck and Prince David…" he taps the tip of his son's button nose, inching a smile back on Roland's face, pulling a warm giggle out of him, "And Ruby, they're some of the bravest heroes we know, are they not?"

Roland nods his head in earnest.

"And they're with some of the fiercest knights, yes?"

He nods again, exclaiming, "And Tink!"

"Yes," Robin chuckles, "And Tink, and soon they'll be back at the castle, and I'm sure Regina will be with them." He blinks up, directing his gaze toward Granny standing a few feet behind Roland now. He sniffs and then says, "Now, when Regina comes back, wouldn't you like to show her you've learned how to ride…" he points toward the pony, pauses, and his son seems to know what has his papa biting at his lower lip.

"Apple!" Roland squeals, gleefully. "Papa, can I ride Apple? Will you show me?"

"It'll be our little surprise for Regina when she gets back." Robin stands, points toward the tacked up horse. "Go on now, I'll be there in a moment."

Roland scampers off, excited, a skip in his step.

An hour or so later, Robin's rotating his shoulder, trying to distract himself from how sore it is, from the burning that he knows is more than tenderness. He's overdoing it, but truthfully he can't bring himself to care all that much. Roland is happy; there's a beaming grin on his face, and this bit of distraction is providing a respite from dark _what if_s threatening to plague Robin's mind. It's nearly time for the afternoon meal, when Roland grumbles that he's hungry and tired so Robin slows the Gelding's trot to a walk, using the lead rope, and helps his boy down.

"I'll walk him out," Robin pats Apple's muzzle, "And then I'll join you and Granny for some lunch, yeah?"

"Alright, Papa."

Granny gives Robin a look that says, _I know what you're up to, boy_, and then grumbles under her breath, "When did I become the castle babysitter?" while ruffling Roland's hair, she threads her fingers with his, and they slowly walk across the courtyard and into the castle.

Robin laughs, turns his attention back to the horse, sighing, no longer trying to keep a strong face on for his son.

"Just you and me now," he murmurs, rubbing behind Apple's ear..

The horse whinnies.

He's outside much longer than he thought he was going to be, and now he's standing in the middle of the arena, walking Regina's mare out by lead rope – Apple long put back in the stables. He keeps thinking _just one more trot around and then I'll brush her down, give her a few carrots and feed, and then I'll go in_, but one circle turns into two and that turns into three, and he just keeps repeating the same pattern until noon time is far passed and sweat is dripping at his temples, his wound inflamed, burning each and every time he rotates his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Snow's voice startles him, and he jumps in his skin before turning to look at her. Her head is cocked to the side and she's tapping her foot on the ground, taptaptap, peering at him the way a mother looks at a child doing something naughty, something they shouldn't. "Doc said you need to rest, Robin."

"I'm fine, " he replies, gaze focusing on the mare again as she changes her gait and canters.

"You haven't healed yet. You're overexerting yourself."

"Regina's mare needs tending, she hasn't been out to trot in days or properly ridden. I'll go once I'm finished."

"Someone else can do that," Snow offers, insists, opening up the arena gate and marching over to him, determined, her palm outstretched. "Here, let me, I'll–"

"I said I'm fine," he counters, jerking his hand away from hers, taking two steps away from her. "I can take care of it." The lead rope goes slack, the mare slows, halts in her step, shaking her head in annoyance, her mane wild and untamed, stomping at the ground with her hoof.

Snow deflates, smiles at him sadly, knowingly. "Robin, you need to rest."

"No, what I need is to do something other than twiddle my thumbs and sleep daylight away."

"Resting isn't doing nothing," she clarifies, and Robin sighs, grinds his teeth. "Resting is taking care of yourself for when she gets back."

"If she gets–" he starts, but she cuts him off with a hasty shake of her head and furrowed brow.

"You can't think like that."

_He knows he can't, but he does, and comments about having hope and faith aren't helping. They just make him more frustrated that he's failed as a father and a lover. He's supposed to protect his family._

"No, what I can't do is sit on my arse while she's out there. God only knows what my brother is doing to her..."

"Regina's a fighter," Snow breathes, in a voice Robin knows is meant to be reassuring, calming, but it's not. And it's not the Princess' fault, she's just trying to help him, but with her every attempt at comfort, he gets more and more frustrated. "She always has been. They'll bring her back."

"How are you so bloody calm? Aren't you worried about them? Your husband and your friends. Aren't you twisted up inside at the thought of losing them? Of losing _her_? Because I am," he admits, on edge and riled up because he's been thinking about Regina and the baby all day, letting fear and anxiety seep into the marrow of his bones. It has his stomach in knots, has his knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the lead rope.

"You can't lose hope. You have to believe, trust that it'll all work out."

"And how am I supposed to fucking do that?" he mutters, sharply, cheeks red, hair around his temples slicked with sweat.

"Robin," Snow's eyes glimmer with sadness, "If you don't have hope, what else is there?"

"Now I understand Regina's annoyance with you. You're hopefulness is infuriating."

Snow rolls her eyes and plants her fists on her hips. "I'd rather be infuriating than be an ass to everyone who's trying to help me," she states, pointedly, glaring at him. "Doc told me you threw a cup at him yesterday when he said you weren't fit to ride yet. You didn't really think you could mount Regina's mare, did you?" She glances at the shoulder he's favoring.

He deflates, meets her gaze and then closes his eyes. His shoulder throbs, excruciatingly. He knows he's overdone it and they'll be hell to pay with Doc. "I can't stop thinking about her out there, about them both, and I don't know what to do… I can't just sit here... If something happens to her and the baby– I already lived this nightmare once with Marian, I don't want to repeat it with Regina."

"Robin," she tentatively places her hand on top of his and gives it a reassuring squeeze before taking the lead rope from him grasp and guiding him and the horse back to the stables. "She's strong. She's the strongest person I've ever met. If someone can survive this, it's Regina."

Snow leads the mare into her stall, unhooks the lead rope and drapes it over the door.

Robin picks a comb up out of the tack box and offers it to her; she takes it with a smile as he replies, "I know she's strong, but you don't know my brother like I do, you don't know the Weeping. That place… it eats away at you, until you're nothing but a hollow shell of your former self. Andrew couldn't fight it, and I wasn't able help him. And now I failed Regina too. I promised her she'd be safe. I promised her our child would be safe, and I failed… I failed both of them."

Robin hangs his head in shame, tears spill out of the corners of his eyes. Snow stops brushing the mare's mane and angles her head to look at the him, to really look at him. Slumped shoulders, wrinkled trousers, unshaven face, askewed hair, dark circles under his eyes. She approaches him slowly, a deep pang of empathy bleeding out of her heart. She knows the agonizing burden of feeling like you've failed your family, and she won't let him carry it alone. Gently placing her hand on his arm, she squeezes comfortingly. "Robin, we're a team. All of us. Granny loves Roland, and despite Leroy's complaints about late nights on the watch tower, he's volunteered nearly every evening to wait and watch for David and the rest of our friends to bring Regina home. You're a part of our family now. And no one attacks our family and gets away with it."

Robin nods, scrubs offending wetness away from his face and then clenches his teeth. "I appreciate the sentiment, Snow, truly, I do. But it wasn't _your _man who betrayed our people."

Snow's eyes widen in shock. "John told you about Allan?"

He shrugs, regretting the choice immediately when the muscles in his shoulder flare like a red, hot poker searing into his flesh. He sharply sucks in a breath, and Snow frowns, opening the gate and pulling the collar of his tunic aside to look. The skin beneath his bandage is agitated, an ugly mark upon his flesh, warm to the touch around the edges; she can feel the heat on her fingertips as she gingerly checks his stitches.

"Come on," she huffs, sounding annoyed with him even though her doey eyes are soft, sympathetic. "Let's go find Doc. He needs to clean and treat that wound, and then you need to rest. And I mean it," she chastises and glares at him sternly, but then she smiles and says, "Or I'll chain you to the bed."

On their way back into the castle, Robin and Snow talk about Allan's betrayal. As far as Robin's concerned, his former Merry Man might as well have murdered Much himself. Afterall, it was Allan who led Jakan and Andrew's men into the castle through the dungeons. It was Allan who knew when the castle would be at its weakest between changing of the guards. It was Allan who knew about the secret tunnels because Robin and Regina had told the Merry Men about them so they could get in and out easily while hunting.

Allan had betrayed their code, their honor; he turned his back on his comrades, his family… and for what? Robin doesn't know. He only knows his gut churns up everytime he closes his eyes.

Flashes of Regina on the ground cradling Much's lifeless body in her arms, of her screaming his name as Andrew's arrow pierced his flesh, of Allan walking up behind her and knocking her out.

He's remembered it all over the last few days, every horrifying, heart-wrenching detail, and it stews a bitterness inside him.

"None of us could have predicted that Allan was working with your brother, Robin," Snow reasons as they walk passed the Great Hall. "You can't blame yourself. "

"Can't I? I've no idea how long Allan has been working with him. My brother wasn't here during the curse. Belle said he was in your Storybrooke as some _Keith. _Just as terrible there, I take it."

"Belle and Gold had more _interactions _with him than I ever did. But he… Emma had to detain him a time or two for being drunk and disorderly. He just spent the night in a jail cell and then he'd get bailed out."

"Sounds like Andrew."

They're standing outside the door to the healing rooms when she says, "David will bring Regina home. I have faith and so should you." She smiles, a rosy color filling the apples of her cheeks.

Robin laughs, lightly. "You never give up, do you?"

"Never."

"You know she loves you, don't you?" He utters, placing his hand against the door to push it open. "She might not say it often, but she does. Deeply."

Snow chuckles because of course she knows. "Regina and I have been through a lot. We've seen the best and worst in each other, and despite everything, she's family. There's only one time when I've ever doubted her ability to change, and I've regretted that ever since. The young woman who saved my life all those years ago, she's resilient, the most resilient, and I know I keep saying that but I believe with all my heart that she'll come back to us."

"We don't give up on the people we love," Robin echoes her earlier words.

And Snow echoes back: "We don't give up on the people we love."

* * *

Zelena has been gone long enough for the sun to disappear below the treeline, depriving Regina's cell of sunlight. Her cage is shadowed in darkness, the only light coming from flickering torches just beyond rusted bars and her sister's enchantment keeping her magic at bay. She's picking at the stew Zelena left her when a door squeaks open and swings wide on its hinges, crashing against cobbled stones.

"You don't have to be so handsy, alright. Bloody hell. It's no way to treat an old friend, mate." Regina listens as an unfamiliar voice complains.

She doesn't have to wait for long to see him, warm flame washing his features in an ambient glow. He has a thin face, big eyes and clean cut hair, tall-ish, lanky, and his hands are shackled together. Allan is behind him, dungeon cell keys in one hand while he grabs at this new prisoner's collar with his other, halting the man in his steps.

"Hey, alright, watch it. No one likes to be manhandled," the man says, cocky grin on his face.

Allan opens the cell door across from Regina's and forces him in.

"Oh come on, mate, this ain't funny. We used to be blokes, you and me, and Robin. Remember that? Stealin' from the rich and giving' to the poor, honor and duty and… somethin'."

Allan scoffs, "Some honor." He pulls the cell door shut, locks it, and turns around, facing Regina's direction. His eyes are downcast at first, but then he looks up, and their eyes connect – her steely browns with his cold greens. "Some honor, indeed," he repeats with disgust.

And Regina can't help herself. "What exactly would you know about honor?" She asks, harshly. Allan growls, _More than you_, and she sneers, "You betrayed your friends, your leader."

"Nobody but Robin betrayed Robin," Allan growls, taking two steps toward her cell and then one step back, eyes widening as she sets her stew down, pushes herself up off her cot and stands in front of the bars just a couple feet away from him. His voice starts off shaky when he continues with, "He chose you…" but his confidence seems to grow with each word tumbling out of his smug mouth, and oh how Regina wishes she could wipe that look off his face. "He's the one who fell in love with the Evil Queen. We used to fight against people like you, but he was blinded by a pretty face. _He_ was the betrayer. He forsake our code, not me."

She shakes her head furiously, biting her bottom lip and clenching her fists. "Robin isn't the one who cost Much his life. _You_ are to blame."

"He was trying to protect _you. _He made that mistake not me, and I wasn't the one wielding the knife."

"I doesn't matter who wielded the knife," she barks, eyes bloodshot and hands shaking. "Who let Jakan into the castle? Who showed him how to use my sister's blood to break through blood magic? Who sent ravens with information to the Wicked Witch and Nottingham? Who opened the front gate? You did, Allan."

Allan's mouth is shut tight and there's a mean, hateful glare in his beady pupils. She can see that he knows she's right, he did do all of those things, he so much as told her that himself after Nottingham revealed that Allan was a spy, that he'd been working secretly with Mortianna in his stead while he'd been sucked into Regina's Storybrooke-hell-hole.

He doesn't answer her. Instead, he walks away, leaving her alone, glistening tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She huffs out a breath and starts to turn to go back to her cot and now cold stew, but then her new dungeon mate speaks up.

"Bloody bastard, that one, ain't he?"

She scoffs. "I can think of a few choice words to describe him."

And he chortles, stretches his arms above his head, inspecting his cell. "I'm Will, Will Scarlet."

"I'm…"

"The Evil Queen, I heard. I remember running from you back in the day."

"You and everyone else," she gripes and then sighs, "but I prefer Regina."

"Alright then, _Regina,_" he states as she watches him crouch down, sift through the dirt, and pick something up, but she doesn't pay much attention to what he starts fiddling with between his thumb and forefinger. "Now, I couldn't help but overhear.. You know, Robin Hood?"

His questions knocks the air out of her lungs, has her subconsciously fidgeting with the fabric over the curve of her stomach again, his gaze follows her movements, he frowns and her hand freezes before she lets it drop to her side. She doesn't answer his question, though she doesn't know why, instead she asks one of her own: "You know Allan?"

"Aye, that bloody arse, ain't really a good mate now ain't he? Given that I'm in here and he's out there." Will peeks his head out between the bars of his cell and looks right to left before pulling his head back through again, his ears getting pinched slightly. "So how do you know Robin?" He asks again, not willing to let her forget his original question.

"Do you always talk this much?"

He smirks at her and rubs his wrist. "Only when I'm talking to a pretty lady such as yourself. So were you his girl or somethin'?"

"I…" she hesitates, voice taking on a slight tremble. She swallows the lump in her throat. "I'm- I'm not his anything…"

But Will is still talking, " So you were his girl or something? I wouldn't blame Robin for falling for someone with…" And she's half hearing him, half trying to gather her thoughts while swallowing down rising bile in her throat, nightmares coming to life flashing across her vision, Robin's lifeless body on the floor in a pool of his own blood, a screaming infant crying in her crib, walls closing in on her. "character like you… he's always liked headstrong women." Will's rambling now, every word piling more and more grief onto her already aching heart, if he doesn't stop soon, if he doesn't shut up, she's going to crack, and she doesn't want to crack. Doesn't want to break the dam of tears welling up in her eyes. "And I hope you don't mind me sayin', but you're not sore on the eyes..."

She doesn't want to crack, but he won't stop talking so she blurts out: "He died."

Will's shoulders slump, his mouth hangs open, _way to be subtle, Regina, _she thinks as he rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "Aw, that's… I'm sorry. He was a good man that Robin."

"He was."

Will shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. "That's a right shame" he continues. "I loved someone once and I know what it's like to lose them," he stops, and she thinks she sees a glimmer of wetness in his eyes. And then he's reaching his hands through the cell gate and fumbling with the padlock with bit of wire or thin piece of iron held between his fingers, jagged end sticking into the lock. "Her name was Ana, and she–"

"I didn't ask for your life story," she interrupts, pulling her stool away from her cot and sitting down.

"Suppose you didn't," he responds, looking up at her, going back to whatever it is he's doing with the lock and then saying, "Our happy endings don't always turn out the way we think they will, do they?"

Again, she doesn't answer one of his questions, brushes it aside and instead asks him another one of her own: "What do you think you're doing?"

Will smiles but doesn't look up at her. "I know what it's like to hurt, to just want it all to bloody end. But I'd prefer to not die in this stinkin' pit, letting Allan think he's won. He's a smug son of a bitch, don't you think? And the last time I saw Nottingham, I was stealing his horse so I'm not too keen on statin' here until he decides to give me a visit."

Regina watches as Will rests his forehead and palms on the rusted cell bars, sighing as he kicks at the dirt beneath his feet. "And what do you think you're going to do?" She asks, eyebrow quirked up questioningly. "Pick the lock free?"

"Precisely," he beams, turns his wrist and the padlock clicks and opens.

A smile inches it's way across her face, and she stands abruptly as he pushes against his cell door, it gives way. A tiny bead of hope takes root in her heart, the first glimmer of light shining in her eyes in days. And for a moment, she's distracted from thinking that Robin is dead, for a moment, she forgets that her life is in ruins again.

Just for a moment, and then her smile fades, and she steps back into the shadows behind her.

Will approaches her cell and begins picking at her lock as well.

"What are you doing?" She asks, a hint of fear in her voice.

"I fell in love with a woman a long time ago. We were thieves, the two of us, and for a while, the open road and bread on our table was enough. Until one day it wasn't. You see, my Ana, the woman I loved, our life wasn't enough for her. She wanted more, she changed. She made the bad choices we hope we'll never make in our lifetimes. She betrayed the people she loved, and she became somewhat of an evil queen herself. Now, you, well, despite your reputation, you seem like you've turned a leaf. I'm sure you've got people waitin' for you back where ever it is you came from, even if Robin's not there to greet you."

Regina's thumb starts rubbing circles over her small belly again, tears slowly easing down her cheeks and off her jaw. Will swings her cell door open, and Regina's eyes widen in shock. She stands up straighter as Will steps inside her cell. "And if I'm right, and that bump there's not Nottingham's generous portions of food in your stomach, then you're pregnant." Regina glares at him beneath her lashes. Will is a good foot taller than her, and without her usual stilettos or high-heeled boots, the look she gives him isn't as menacing or worrisome as she means it to be. "This is the last place you should be," Will continues, "so you can stay here, or you can come with me. But I'm not gonna make ya. S'up to you."

He's offering her a way out, offering her hope and another chance. They both look at each other as she contemplates what comes next.

"Robin save my life once; he gave me a second chance," he tells her. "So if he saw the good in you... helping you is the least I can do to pay him back, especially after the way I left things. We'll keep each other safe tonight once we get outta here, and as soon as the sun rises, I'll take you to wherever you need to go."

Regina lets his words soak in, reaches her hand out and then stops. "How do I know if I can trust you?"

She's afraid, afraid of what comes next. She's been alone in this cell for weeks, with just her thoughts and the weight she carries inside her. Alone but certain of what would happen each day she awoke – prison gruel and a visiting bitch of a sister day in and day out and the wailing sounds of prisoners begging for life.

"You don't. Same as I don't know if I can trust you. But I'd rather take my chances with you, than risk staying here."

She has a chance now to choose what comes next.

To choose life.

To not wait for death to come and for Zelena to win.

"Whaddaya say, Regina? I 'aven't got all day," Will comments, looking up and down the corridor again to make sure no one is coming.

"I–" And that's when she feels it for the very first time. A tiny flutter that grows into something stronger. A thump, thump, thumping really. Her hand tentatively reaches back to her lower abdomen, palm rubbing there, unsure of what she just felt until– there it is again.

A kick. More than a flutter, more than a feeling or a sensing of energy pulsing in her womb.

The baby.

And just like that her choice is clear.

Life.

She chooses life.

Robin is dead. Her son is gone. But this, baby and Roland– oh God, Roland.

Regina looks up at Will and he smiles, knowingly. "Well, alright then, let's go."

As soon as Regina follows Will out of her cell, she sucks in a sharp breath and doubles over as her magic comes roaring back to life. The abrupt sensation nearly knocks the wind out of her. Will grabs her by the elbow and helps her right herself.

"You alright?" He asks in a hurry, voice laced with worry.

She straightens her back, exhales and then flexes her fingers, a fireball flickering in her palm.

"Oh, I'm more than alright," she breathes, smiling wickedly, and then the baby kicks again, and Regina lets the fireball die out, and she thinks, _Don't worry, little one, I won't let anything happen to you._

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't not own the characters in this story, their backgrounds or the world that they live in, but this plot came out of my brain.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN:** A long time coming, but here it is. As always, thank you so much for your love, encouragement and support of this story. There are a few friends who help me get through writer crazies and weeks of _I can't do this. _Without them, this chapter wouldn't have happened. So thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou, and without further ado, let's get back to the story!

**Last time on TIB (since it's been so fucking long even I forgot what happened last time):** Regina sits in her cell, gets taunted by Zelena, finds out that Allan is a traitor that sold them all out to Mortianna and Nottingham; Robin is frustrated that he's not looking for Regina with David, Little John, Tuck, Ruby, Tink and some knights. Snow cheers him up, bonddddding. Regina meets a cell mate, who happens to be Will Scarlet. They banter, he breaks them out of the gross ass prisons, and they get the hell out of there. Regina has her magic back. Beware all who've crossed her. Hehehe.

* * *

_Of Total Exhaustion and a Long Over Due Reunion_

The forest passes in a blur of fading brown and gray and fresh green sprigs. Snarled thorns and high bushes tear at the skirt of Regina's smock of a dress and the length of Will's trousers. Their arms are saved from scratches and stinging nettles, but their spirits dwindle as they put more and more distance between themselves and Nottingham's Fortress.

It's been four days since he picked her cell lock and bargained with her for her freedom. Four days since they've had anything to properly fill their bellies, making due with a few handfuls of berries budding under fresh spring light, some grub Will pried out from between the bark and wood of a rotten log. It's enough to keep them moving, to keep them on their feet for a few hours each day, but it's not enough to sustain. They grow tired quickly, get fatigued easily, bicker and argue half-heartedly (because even that siphons off precious energy that neither of them can afford to sacrifice).

It's just after high noon from what Regina can tell; the sun directly above them, beating down on their backs and the tops of their heads, sweat beading at their temples and dripping down their necks.

God, she's exhausted, achy to the bone. Each hour that ticks by, each grueling minute feels like a lifetime she can't afford as her hands begin to tremble, and her teeth begin to chatter. When did she start getting cold? She looks up at the sky above her, and it's darker now, the sun dipping down behind the towering pines.

Time is starting to slip away from her, starting to fade from one moment to the next, and that's not a good sign. Can't be a good sign. A shiver rattles up her spine again and she makes up her mind.

"We n-need to stop," Regina mutters, her voice cracking with the edge of a cold coming on, an irritating tickle in her throat forcing her to cough and a heavy weariness stinging her eyes. She wets her dry lips with her tongue and brings her arm up to wipe her sweat slicked brow with her sleeve.

"Can't. Almost to the next peak," Will counters, wiping his brow as well and slowly ascending the steep side of a boulder, planting one foot in front of the other and beginning to hoist himself up. "Just a bit more."

"Will…" she starts to follow, legs shaking more and more with every labored step up granite. She's breathing heavily by the time she crests the other side, limbs feeling boneless and weighted down, heart beating violently in her chest to the point that she can hear it in her head–a cacophonous _boom boom boom _that drowns out the sound of pine needles crunching beneath her feet and Will calling her name. The trees around her spin, bleed into brown shrubbery on the ground, swirling with ochre, grays and mustards upon the earth.

It's Will's hand on her arm that keeps her upright, steadies her, and makes her blink her eyes open. He's fuzzy at first, his face so close to her, breath abrasively feathering over her skin. She can't quite hear him, but his voice gets louder, clearer with each word coming out of his mouth till finally:

"You alright, love?" He asks, worriedly, palms gripping her shoulders now, and eyes searching hers for an answer. "Regina?"

He sounds like _him_… with his monikers and his words of endearment that slip so easily off his tongue. Words that don't feel earned, but no less meaningful.

Only… he isn't _him_.

He's not Robin.

He's Will.

Nodding her head, she whispers, "I'm fine," and stands up taller. She tries to shake him off, brushing his hands aside and shifting his focus with: "Assuming we're stopped for the night?"

"For a bit, yeah," he says with a furrowed brow and an anxious look in his eyes. He doesn't believe her, not for an iota of a second, and she doesn't blame him. She knows what she must look like, can feel it down to her bones.

"I'll start a fire then," she offers, confidently, stepping out of his hold and stumbling toward the clearing in front of them with her palm outstretched and ready to conjure a familiar flame. This will be the perfect spot anyway for them to rest for a moment–an obsidian boulder at their backs, a sheer cliff face, and trees all around them, providing shelter enough for comfort.

But Will seems to have something else in mind. "Nah, don't want a repeat of you faintin', now do we?" He chides, gathering up a few dried twigs and leaves.

"I didn't faint," she bites, annoyed, her mind wandering to yesterday when she performed a location spell to track the distance left between them and the winter palace. She'd already been pushing passed her fatigue, using magic to mask their scent from Nottingham's dogs, sweeping away their footprints behind them, and maintaining a minor illusion to keep them out of sight. And all on less than four hours of sleep, no less, and an empty stomach. None of which agreed with her. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Regina explains, "I just... passed out."

_Lies. _

She's making up excuses now.

"Faintin', passin' out. Not much of a difference if you ask me," Will counters with a cheeky grin on his face, tossing his kindling on the ground and crouching down to sit on his heels. He grabs a few decent sized rocks next to him to form a circular fire pit. "Point is, don't need that happenin' again any time soon. You just nearly did it again a second ago… I'm just gonna do this the old fashioned way, maybe find us somethin' to eat, and then we're gonna keep going and get back to your castle."

"We should've been there by now," she breathes, slowly making her way toward a tree so she can sit and lean against it. There's no use in pretending she's not as exhausted as she is; Will already knows, and at the moment, she couldn't really give a fuck if he thinks less of her for it. She needs to sit, _needs _to rest; she knows she's about to pass out again with the way black specks are dancing across her vision and how her stomach is churning uncomfortably.

"We'll get there." He stands, dusts off his hands and makes to walk past her, but Regina grabs his wrist from her place on the dirt, a confession quite close to slipping off the tip of her tongue.

She's just so tired, drained of everything, more weary than she's ever been before, which doesn't make sense to her. She's been tortured, left to starve in a tower for days on end, trekked through Neverland to rescue her son, shut down that foolish Dark Curse failsafe, been knocked out, knocked around, and still she'd been fine. She'd pushed forward, but now… now she's not so sure she has it in her to keep going.

Her feet burn, even while sitting upon grass and dirt and pebbles. Her head pounds, even while resting against the gnarled bark of this tree. It frustrates her, makes her grit her teeth and bite her nails into her palms.

Regina Mills is not a quitter.

She does not give up.

She eases her hand off the ground, gently rubbing along the curve of her belly and biting the inside of her cheek, silently grimacing, pursing her lips when hunger claws at her–_their_–insides again. Failure is not an option, but right now...now she's questioning tomorrow.

Will's other hand meets hers on his wrist, squeezes gently, and pulls her from her thoughts. "We won't make it on foot," he volunteers for her, doesn't leave room for her to doubt herself or place blame. His soft eyes tell her that he already knows they've reached the breaking point. "Not like this. Not without a proper meal and rest. We need food, good food. And I don't know about you, but I could use a bed. Maybe a fluffy pillow. Could really go for a pint, prop up my feet, and watch one of those movies back in Storybrooke."

Regina smiles, chuckles lightly, appreciating his sentiment. She could go for that, too, if it weren't for the fact that they're mucking through the Weeping Wood. He reassuringly squeezes her fingers once more and then she lets go of him.

He'd told her about his apartment in Storybrooke, his little hovel off Main Street that he'd locked up before hopping a portal to Wonderland. She knows about his Ana, about both of their ties to Cora, and the things Will had to sacrifice just for his happiness to be ripped away.

It seems, even when you're a hero, sometimes you still lose.

And he's not a hero. Not really. He's a thief.

But at least he'd had honor. Just like someone else she knew.

Regina leans back against the tree and closes her eyes, breathing in, and out, in, and out, listening to… well… silence. Besides the two of them, the beating of her heart, oxygen filling her lungs, and Will walking over to the fire pit again to strike two rocks against each other hoping to spark a flame, the clearing is dead quiet.

It gives her the creeps. This place, there's nothing but horrors to be found here, repressed fears and nightmares come to life.

She blinks her eyes open again, massages the back of her neck and then rests her hands over her stomach; it's subconscious now–her hand pressed against her belly, thumb rubbing over the fabric of her dress–something she doesn't have to think about, something that just happens, as natural as breathing.

Will looks over at her sitting there on the ground, back against the tree, and she thinks she might see something familiar in his eyes, the ghost of something flickering in his irises.

"Maybe you should sleep for a bit, get some shut eye while I do this, yeah?" He suggests.

Oh. _Oh. _That's it. He _cares_. He cares about what happens to her.

"I'm fine," she huffs, stubbornly, even though, really, she knows she's not. Just sitting on the ground is beckoning her to close her eyes again, and she knows, without a doubt, that if she does, she'll fall asleep. She _knows_ she needsto, _knows_ the baby needs her to, but despite the eerie quiet, she also _knows_ they're not alone; there are things in this wood lurking in shadow, things that not even Regina is willing to meet with her guard down.

"You're not. You're wastin' away," he retorts, "and I won't dishonor my vow to get you home just 'cause you're stubborn and don't want to take a break."

"It's not safe," she argues, weakly, her body already caving to slumber's seduction.

"Safe as it's gonna get," he suggests.

And she can't argue him that so she huffs a breath, glares at him one more time for good measure (because damnit, she's the Evil Queen, or at least she used to be, still is in some ways, and she won't let him think she so easily yielded to him), and then she sinks more of her weight more deeply against the trunk of the tree, her eyes fluttering closed.

He's right, of course.

This journey is siphoning away her energy like a leech sucking away her life force.

There's a twinge in her lower back, the muscles in her shoulders are knotted, a flash of pain is flaring at her temples, even her hair is bothering her; it's heavy, pulls at the nape of her neck. That's probably the main cause of the migraine forming between her eyes. The gnawing hunger in her belly doesn't help. It makes her woozy, makes her want to double over, makes her want to curl up into a ball and just sleep. Sleep until this is over, sleep until her heart and body don't hurt in equal measure. Sleep and hope that when she opens her eyes again she'll be home in her bed.

She swallows, thickly. Seconds tick by, and then she's cocooned by the warm embrace of exhaustion.

:.:

Regina jolts awake to a high-pitched screeching piercing her eardrums, the foul smell of singed hair and something wet dripping on her cheek. She towels the moisture off with her sleeve, wipes what remains off with her fingers, and then squints through sleep-hazy eyes at the offending substance coating her fingertips. Her stomach rolls when the phlegm-like matter shifts into focus. Will is shouting her name, yelling at her to _Get up!, _kicking up dust toward her feet, and waving a flaming branch above them both like a maniac.

There's a dead creature on the ground behind him, half-in and half-out of the smoldering fire pit. But whatever's going on isn't registering with her, she's still partially asleep. Slow to respond, she blink, blink, blinks and then follows his line of sight up, higher and higher until she finally sees what has him panicking.

_Damn it!_, she knew sleeping was a bad idea, knew it would cost her, knew the benefit of staying awake far surpassed the benefits of a few measly minutes of rest. It's more of a struggle than she'd like to admit, but she's able to push herself up and off the ground much more swiftly than she'd been expecting. Will grabs her hand, pulling her toward him, and they're back to back now, looking out for each other, eyes circling their surroundings the same way a group of flying monkeys are currently circling around them, getting closer and closer with each flap of their wings.

She doesn't have long to adjust on her feet, doesn't have long to wonder why her cloaking spell didn't hold, doesn't have long to think about how Zelena's minions tracked her and Will down before one of the winged-beasts dives for her head, tries to claw at her and then at Will with sharp talons caked with mud and grime. Adrenaline pumps through her veins and Regina twists her wrist in a flourish, forming a fireball in her palm; she's not going to let that thing touch her, isn't going to die out here because of an infection, not after weeks of rotting in a cell with rats and her own filth.

The Evil Queen isn't going to be taken out by a simian beast from hell.

Will beats her to the punch, draws back the flaming branch in his hand and swings. Hard. It cracks against the creature's skull, dropping it to the ground. A cloud of dust puffs up around its body as it collides with the forest floor.

She purses her lips together, and it seems Will knows what she's thinking, because he smirks and nods his head toward her. "Not quick enough, Your Majesty. That's my second one. You still have… none."

"I'll catch up, dear, you don't have to worry about that," she boasts, smiling wickedly, and then she arches her arm back and casts the fireball in her hand toward a beast swooping toward Will's back; it's a breath away from his neck, fangs bared and dripping with drool, but it never touches Will. Instead, it ignites in a red hot fury, a sickening schreak careening out of its mouth as its body chars to a crisp. "Just stay focused on not getting too cocky. That one almost took off your ear."

Will's eyes go wide in shock, and then he nods. "Much obliged."

"Pleasantries will get us killed, Scarlet. Let's just get rid of these things and get out of here, shall we."

"After you, milady."

Another echo of pain lances through her heart.

_Milady. _

Her eyes soften, her face falls, and she tries to match his grin, but… she can't. Instead she focuses on conjuring familiar flame after flame and scorching wings and tails and the heads of her green-bitch-of-a-sister's mutated army. With every creature she fells, she thinks of Robin, thinks of Much, of Roland, of John and Tuck, and Snow and David. She thinks of Henry, of home, thinks of the gift she gave Emma and her son, thinks of the baby, and the days in front of her. With each beast's dying cry, she thinks of Zelena. Anger simmers up, boils beneath her skin, and it bursts hot, white flames in her hands, makes her see red, red, red.

Smoke pervades her senses, stings her eyes, singes the hairs in her nostrils, burns her throat. Soon her chest is heaving, sweat is blooming on her brow. Her hands are shaking, arms aching, legs trembling. She's ready to collapse, and so is Will.

They can't keep this up for much longer, ducking and diving, using magic, brawn and wit to outsmart multiple foes. These monkeys are getting on her last nerve, this… horde… do you call a group of flying monkeys a horde? A murder maybe? No. They aren't crows. The same rules don't apply. _Damnit_, _Regina_. _Focus. Don't get caught up on a word that doesn't mean anything if you're dead because you were too busy contemplating a noun! Oh God. She's gone mad._ She feels crazy. All those days trickling into the next, talking to herself, waiting for Zelena or Nottingham to come and annoy her, to pester and taunt her. When she survives this, when she gets home, she's finding Snow and she's going to apologize for all the times she pushed her away, for all the times she didn't want to talk to her. What she wouldn't give to talk to her now.

"Hey!" Will hollers, pushing her out of the way from the open jaw of a monkey too close for comfort. He bashes its side, and the creature wails, gnashing its teeth and flying up higher into the sky out of reach. "You insane? You're not payin' attention."

Maybe she is, she thinks. Maybe she is.

"We can't keep this up for much longer," he grunts, and she agrees. They can't. If she were leading her Black Knights, she'd tell them to fall back, but fall back to where? They have an obsidian boulder at their backs, which seemed like a strategic idea before she took a fucking nap, and now, now it seems idiotic, like something maybe David would do.

They don't have very many options, and this little pause has given the adrenaline coursing through her veins just enough time to taper out, for her to feel the burnout down to her bone. She's using too much energy. Soon, she'll have nothing left. She's already almost there.

"Whattya want to do?" Will asks, hastily, quickly, as the both of them slowly back up toward the boulder; the beasts herding them into a corner.

Her eyes meet his. "Thanks for getting me out of that cell."

"Hey now, none of that."

"What do you think comes next, Scarlet?" She challenges him, because she _does _know_. _

They have nowhere to go, and they're gravely outnumbered.

He tilts his head, shrugs his shoulders, and says matter-of-factly, "I'm still hopin' for that pint, to be honest."

Regina's eyebrows rise toward her hairline, her lips inch up into a small grin, and she cocks her head to the side before a dark fit of laughter bubbles up and out of her chest. The sound surprises her, and him, but not as much as the thunderous sound of hooves pounding against the ground.

Arrows cut through the air, steel swords slice simian beasts in half, pixie dust shrinks those same beasts into squash-able bugs, and the war cries of men and the howl of a wolf ring through Regina's ears. She and Will lean heavily against each other; she grips his arm tightly, and then she sighs in relief as Ruby shreds one of Zelena's pets into an unrecognizable crimson heap of fur, feathers, ligaments and innards. Tinker Bell dusts off her wings, and a few of the Merry Men draw their bows back, surveying the clearing for more foul creatures.

There are none. None that are alive anyway.

David dismounts a blue-gray stallion, one that reminds Regina of an Appalachian breed back in Storybrooke, his cape cascading down his back in a display of gold and red. The are five more knights behind him upon their steeds, and Regina wonders for a moment what brought them all this far beyond their kingdom's borders? Not that she isn't grateful, without them… well… she doesn't care to ponder that too long. But why are they here in the Weeping Wood?

"David?" Regina whispers, wavering on her feet.

"Regina," he grins, making her wonder if that is actually relief she sees in his eyes. Tinker Bell lands on the ground in a shimmer of pixie dust, mirroring David's smile before unfastening his saddlebag and lifting out Ruby's red cloak. She unfolds it, flinging it over the wolf who's panting between bared teeth.

"What are you doing here?" Regina asks, her voice quiet, small, uncertain.

"We've been trying to find the fortress for days, but the Wicked Witch must have some sort of protection spell around it," David replies, looking over his shoulder as Ruby stretches out her arms and legs, standing up straighter, and pulling her cloak more tightly around her.

"I couldn't pick up your trail," Ruby explains, scrunching up her nose.

Regina's right hand begins to shake; she wraps it around her stomach, her fingers trembling against the abrasive fabric of her smock. "Decoy spell," she states, bile burning in the back of her throat again.

David frowns, pauses a foot in front of her. "Regina? Are you alright? Maybe you should sit down."

"No…" _no_, that's not what she meant, she quickly shakes her head but that makes more black spots dance across her vision. "I mean, yes. Yes, I'm fine." She waves him off, just as she did Will. "David, why are you–"

Will interjects, placing his hand on her shoulder. "She's _not_ alright. She's been sayin' that for days, but it's a lie."

She rolls her eyes, abruptly brushes his hand away before blinking twice more and meeting David's gaze. She's about to finish her question when the scowl on his face makes her pause.

"Who's this?" David asks, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword.

Will steps in front of Regina. "Names Will Scarlet. And who the bloody 'ell are you?"

Regina lets out a long exhale. _Really. _Are they really about to have a pissing match?

David raises his eyebrows before scoffing. "That's none of your concern. I'll be asking the questions here considering I'm the one who found you with the Queen."

Now it's Regina's turn to raise _her_ eyebrows in surprise. Clearing her throat and standing taller like the Queen she is, she clarifies, "Will and I met in Nottingham's dungeon; he helped me escape. We've been walking through this tick infested forest for days. But enough about us, why are _you_ here?"

"I told you, we couldn't figure out how to get inside the Fortress, so we've–"

"No, I know that, but why are you _here_?" She repeats herself, a bit annoyed that he doesn't understand her question. Is she not speaking clearly? Did she give the idiot Charming too much credit before?

And then… David's eyes widen and his features soften. "Regina… you didn't think we'd leave you? Did you?"

_No… yes…?_

"Regina, you're family." He declares with such assurance, it almost knocks the air out of her lungs.

It didn't even dawn on her that they came for _her_; they're here for _her. _They put their lives at risk for _her. _

The hint of her first genuine smile in weeks tugs at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes water. She takes it back. He's not an idiot. He's _her_ idiot. And then the world spins and her legs buckle.

Before blackness consumes her, David catches Regina in his arms, and she hears him whisper, "I've got you."

:.:

_A Day Later, Back at the Castle_

The kitchen is filled with the warm smell of sugar, dough and baked apples, and one good pull of the aroma into his lungs has Robin's spirits lifting, his body feeling lighter. He's leaning against the door jamb with his fingers stuffed into his trouser pockets, waiting like an obedient child as he was told to by Widow Lucas, keeping his muddy boots and dirty hands out of her kitchen while she pulls a piping hot apple pie out of the wood-fired oven.

In the last few months, he's discovered there's almost nothing as delicious as the tasty morsels that Widow Lucas whips up.

Almost nothing.

The phantom taste of Regina's apple turnovers make his mouth water, and then his eyes sting as his mind wanders and he thinks of _her_, of rich brown eyes, quick wit, and a mother's heart. His thoughts aren't allowed to linger on his absent love long though, a gruff voice cutting through bittersweet recollections, pulling his attention across the room.

"I didn't say you could come into my kitchen just so you could sulk, boy."

"I'm not in your kitchen, though, am I?" He posits, pointing toward his feet, firmly upon the threshold.

"Don't be smart." Widow Lucas rolls her eyes, folds up a towel and opens the oven door, releasing a waft of warm cinnamon goodness; he can practically feel apples and butter melting on his tongue. "You're thinking about her again."

He crosses his arms and sighs, "I'm always thinking of her."

There's a pause between them, a minute or two where Robin is quiet, where his mind wanders to Regina again, to the last peaceful moment they'd shared before betrayal and blood and darkness flung him over the castle wall. He thinks of her asleep in his arms, her head tucked comfortably under his chin, her ear pressed against his chest, his fingers combing gently through her hair and his other hand rubbing smooth circles over her belly.

Tranquil. Serene. Easy.

What he wouldn't give for that again, to hold Regina in his arms, or to just know she's alright, to know she's free and well, to know their baby's healthy and safe in her womb.

"They'll bring them back," Widow Lucas utters, sprinkling a pinch of sugar over piping hot pie crust.

"So I've been told."

"And for good reason. You'll see." She dusts her hands off on her apron and then looks him in the eyes, softly. "Don't give up on her so easily."

"I haven't."

She dips her head, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. "Really? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it sounds like you've lost faith."

"I have faith… I just…" Robin rubs the back of his neck, sighing and uncrossing his ankles.

"You just what?" She _tsks_.

Robin exasperates, flinging his hand into the air, "The Weeping is only a gallop's ride from here, and then another back, why haven't they returned yet? Or sent word if they needed reinforcements? It's been 10 days!"

"I don't know, I'm not the magical one," she bites, "If you ask me, that green bitch probably did exactly what any good sorceress would do–fortify. But if there's one thing I know about the _Charming_s, it's that Regina is their family. It doesn't matter what the Prince finds during his journey, doesn't matter what he faces, he's not going to stop until he brings her home. Same as your Merry Men. Or have you lost faith in them as well?"

Robin's shoulders sag and he breathes out a shaky breath, hanging his head.

"Boy, look at me," she requests with earnest. And he does. "They _are_ bringing her home."

He nods, sighing and toeing at the kitchen floor as Widow Lucas quickly slides a knife through the pie, dishing out four pieces onto two wooden plates, two pieces quite a bit bigger than the others. "Now here, I said I'd make that lad of yours a pie, and I've made him a pie. Don't ruin it by letting it get cold."

She pushes the plates across the table between them, waves four spoons toward him, wordlessly telling him to come retrieve the cutlery.

In a matter of seconds, she's managed to change the tone of their conversation, and Robin's grateful, takes her spoons, her pie _and _her peace offering.

"You know, you spoil him, don't you? Roland's gonna think he can request this whenever he likes now and you'll just do as he says."

"S'not my job to say, 'no'. That's up to you," she laughs, turning her back and pouring herself a cup of port. "You're his father. I'm just... _Granny_. It's my right to spoil the cub."

Robin grins, swiping up the plates of dessert.

"Now get out of my kitchen. I've got a supper to prepare."

:.:

Robin finds Roland just where he left him, with Snow and Miss Paige, playing and shrieking gleefully in the gardens as they chase after each other, their laughter filling the air with joyfulness and warmth. Robin chuckles as Roland stumbles over his clumsy feet and almost face plants into a mud puddle, his son correcting his balance, of course, by catching himself with his hands pressed into the wet earth. His lad giggles, kicks at the ground and pushes himself up into a swift run, his four year old legs no less heavy and uncoordinated.

Snow's eyes meet Robin's from across the field of lilacs and irises and she smiles as he approaches. "Roland, Paige," she corrals, "time to wash up if you want those treats from Granny."

The children's unison _Yes! _is followed by Paige skipping over to Snow and Roland wiping his muddy paws off on his trouser.

"Roland!" Robin chastises, smirking and trying to look as stern as possible. "What have we said about washing our hands?"

Roland ducks his head. "Not on our clothes, Papa."

"Right, my boy. And what did Regina teach you? What do we wash them with?"

"With water," Roland sighs, looking up at his papa beneath his long lashes. "But Papa, I don't have any water." He lifts up his arms in a shrug with his fingers splayed out in a _see-Papa-no-water-here_ sort of manner.

Robin grins, chortles, walks over to Snow and hands her the plates of dessert and spoons. "I'll fetch a pail from the stables and get water from the well, meet the lot of you over near the front steps? We can eat our pie there, _after_," he stares back at his son knowingly, "we wash up, yeah?"

"Sounds like a great plan to me," Snow agrees, the apples of her cheeks beaming. "Come on, children."

Roland and Paige gladly follow in her wake.

:.:

The leisurely clip-clopping of horses' hooves wakes Regina. Her head lolls against a hard chest and her throbbing headache is reduced to a dull ache between her eyes. She groans and the hard chest pressed against her ear moves.

"Good evening, Sleeping Beauty." David's graveled-honey voice rumbles against her head as he shifts in the saddle. "You're just in time for the sunset."

"I don't think Aurora would appreciate that reference," Regina whispers, groggy, the corner of her mouth inching up a centimeter or two. "We have a… complicated history."

"You have complicated history with everyone, Regina."

Her eyes flutter shut and she smirks, "Yes, well, tell me something I don't know, _Charming_."

He chuckles but then the cadence is off a bit, drops a little lower than his normal tone. Shifting in the saddle again, he adjusts his grip on her and hoists her into a higher seating position. "Actually, now that you mention it, I should have said this when we first found you, but..." he pauses, slipping the reins as they amble down a slope. "I didn't have the chance."

She expects him to say something else, however, the words appear to be lost on his tongue.

"Spit it out, David," She tells him, deep lines forming on her brow.

He opens his mouth to answer, but then Tinker Bell zips in front of them, hovering and landing on the saddle horn, her wings jittering behind her little fairy body. "We're home! They're opening the main gate," she beams and then exclaims, "I'm flying ahead to check in with Blue," before fluttering her wings and returning to the open air.

"Already?" Regina croaks, feeling like she has a sock in her throat. (She clears it and licks her dry lips.)

"You've been asleep for most of the day," David speaks, drawing her attention back to him. Their eyes meet, and she becomes keenly aware of how intimate their position is with the way she's cradled in his arms. "Seemed like you needed the rest. I didn't want to wake you."

She _hmmm_s and licks her dry lips a second time, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

"Here." He bends them both forward a bit so he can move his cape aside and unfasten a canteen from his hip. The angle allows her to peek behind him. Will's riding on the same mare as Little John, but neither of them appear to be talking. The knights and Tuck are meandering behind them, and Ruby's dashing in and out of the tree-line, visible for seconds as she bounds over fallen logs and shrubbery before disappearing into the wood again, the wolf looking free and magnificent. David nudges the canteen into Regina's hands and she takes it as he insists, "This'll help."

Popping the cap off with her thumb, she sips slowly, lukewarm liquid _waterfall_ing down the inside of her throat, quenching her thirst. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A few minutes tick by and she finds her body begging to lean into David's chest again, finds that her eyelids are once more heavy, but just as she's about to slip back into slumber, she jerks her head up and shakes away the edges of sleep.

That is, until David finally jests, "You know, it won't kill you to relax. Close your eyes. Seriously, if you need to lean against me, go ahead. I don't bite."

She _hmph_s, "Debatable," but doesn't let the sarcastic upturn in her voice prevent her from doing just as he offered, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arm more tightly around her stomach.

"What did you want to tell me? Before?" She eventually asks, watching as they slowly pass by conifer after conifer. The trees are becoming less dense, they'll be in the meadow before the castle soon.

"Hmmm?"

She huffs out a breath, letting her eyes drift closed. "You know how much I love repeating myself?" Her snarky remark doesn't have its usual bite to it, lacks a sharpness she once delivered each time she and David traded barbs, but now, now her voice is softer, less impassioned, and instead filled with something akin to friendly jesting.

My how things have changed, she thinks as the two dwarves standing guard outside the main gate let them pass. Regina misses the way they both smile at her as the stallion walks her and David into the front courtyard.

"It's about Robin."

_Oh. _Her body tenses. The friendliness in her tone all but disappears, and when she speaks, each word is like a rock she's forced to swallow.

"David, I don't want to talk about… _him_." He's dead. There's nothing _to_ talk about.

"Regina, he's–"

"What part of '_I don't want to talk about him' _do you not understand?" She snaps, pushing herself away from his chest and sitting upright in the saddle, and that's when she hears it, a burst of laughter so warm and infectious she'd recognize it anywhere. Wiping her head around to follow the magical sound, the air immediately leaves Regina's lungs and she grabs onto David's hands on the reins.

_Roland. _

Roland skipping, laughing, spinning in circles with Jefferson's daughter near the entrance to the castle, spinning in circles and still unaware of her and David and their small company. And Snow, there's Snow. Snow whose back is facing their approach but is no less recognizable to Regina.

"David, stop the horse," Regina orders, quietly, calmly.

"Alright, just give me a moment. We'll tack up with the others, and then I'll get Doc. He'll need to look you over," he replies, beginning to turn them toward the stables (their small company is already making for the paddocks). His horse whinnies, and the children finally stop spinning in circles long enough to spot them across the yard.

Snow turns around and brings her hand up above her eyes. Roland leans a bit forward and bounces on the balls of his feet, and then he squeals, a high pitched joyous keen that has tears pricking at Regina's eyes.

(It doesn't even dawn on her that Roland looked happy moments ago, carefree, unburdened by the loss of a parent.)

"Seriously, David_. _Stop the horse."

"_Seriously_, Regina. We're almost there."

"David, _DavidfuckingNolan_, you stop this fucking horse, right fucking now." She doesn't wait for him to stop. (Roland is running, running toward her, tripping over his feet as he goes, his laces undone, his mop of curls bouncing on his head, and a smile that could pierce any darkness beaming on his face. It's all for her, and she will not make him run the whole way, she will not make him wait a minute more.) She grabs the reins herself and halts the stallion in his steps. He whinnies louder, paws at the dirt and cobble stones, and she mumbles a quick apology while pushing at David's arms and trying to get down herself.

"Regina, wait!" David yells, urgently, but she's not waiting, she's sliding off the side of the stallion and David is hastily grabbing under her arms to try and ease her drop to the ground, to keep her up on her feet, and yes, that wasn't smart, that was stupid, she shouldn't have jumped down so quickly, she should have waited, but she can't. Roland is just there, and she can't. She starts running, stumbles on her weak legs and pants a bit as she goes, but each step brings her closer and closer to her brave little knight and his small little arms, and she's exhausted, everything aches, but she doesn't care, she doesn't care because Roland is here, and she's home, and her limbs are clumsy, they fumble against cobbled stones, and she's shouting his name, and he's calling hers, and then–

"Gina! Gina!" The little boy squeals as she falls to her knees in front of him. It hurts, the impact of her knees against the hard ground hurts, but what's a sore knee or two when the sweetest four-year-old is jumping into your open her arms? She isn't sure who hugs who first, who clings more tightly to the other, but it doesn't matter. She's holding him, pressing her lips to the crown of his head and breathing him in, weaving her fingers through his brown curls as tears stream down her cheeks and his tiny arms wrap more tightly around her neck. He's got mud all over his hands, and now it's on her dress, in her hair, on her skin, but she doesn't care (she hasn't been clean in days anyway), she doesn't care. She's holding him, touching him, hugging him. What's a bit of mud or grime or dirt when her brave little knight's hands are wrapped around her neck?

Snow is behind Roland, a hand covering her mouth, but she doesn't step any closer, doesn't stop this moment between Regina and Roland. She lets them be. Lets them have this. And that's another thing Regina will have to thank her for later.

For now, her heart's too busy beating rapidly in her chest, so hard she thinks it just might leave bruises, but then, then her heart stops as Roland practically shouts into her ear.

"Papa, Papa! Look, it's Gina!"

Regina's heart stops and she forgets to breathe. Something hits the ground with a thud behind her, followed by the sound of splashing water. It takes a moment for her heart to catch up, for it to start beating again, but when it does, Regina nervously hugs Roland one more time and then pushes herself up to stand. She turns, timidly, her rich brown eyes locking with crystal blue orbs.

A smile breaks onto Robin's face, small, and it's almost like he can't believe what he's seeing, but that can't be right, because she's the one who's supposed to be surprised, she's the one in shock. He's supposed to be dead. She saw him, watched him go over the wall. He was dead, he should be dead.

And then it hits her.

"You're alive," she gasps, and then they're tangling limbs and chaste kisses and hands roaming up and down each other's arms. Soft sobs, desperation and relief. Robin's hands swiftly coast up Regina's arms, wrapping around her, pulling her into his chest, and she goes, willingly, as he fists his fingers into her hair, touching their foreheads together, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Roland hops up and down and runs toward them, hugging Robin and Regina's legs.

She never thought she'd have this again, thought it was lost to her forever, but here they are, and it's overwhelming–the tightness in her chest, the pounding of her heart, the way her fingers are a bit numb at her fingertips.

She feels–she feels happy–so unbelievably happy. Zelena tried to steal that from her, tried to rip it away, but she's lost, her wicked sister has lost. For now. She knows the battle isn't over, knows there's more yet to come, but the important thing now is that she's here, with her family, and she finally knows what she needs to do. Finally knows who they need to talk to next about getting back to Storybrooke, getting back to Henry. She won't sit by any longer, won't wait for fate to decide what it wants to do with her.

She has Robin, she has Roland, and Snow, and the baby, and fuck everything, she is going to get her son back.

"Are you alright?" Robin asks, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with the pad of his thumb.

"I am now," she reasons, giving him a watery smile and then skating her hand up over his shoulder (her heart beats harder) to the nape of his neck (her palms sweat) where she can weave her fingers through his hair (her breath is unsteady). She pauses for a moment, wets her lips, watches as Robin's eyes dart to her tongue, and just as the longing becomes unbearable, as their chests press as close together as they can get, as he gazes down at her parted mouth and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, Regina crushes her lips to Robin's.

God, she's missed him so much, had only thought this would be possible again through her dreams. But he's here. He's real. And she's angling her head back, parting her lips to his eager tongue, and this kiss is heated, sloppy, a clumsy knocking of teeth as they find their rhythm.

But Regina doesn't care.

She's kissing him and kissing him, and he's kissing her back, lips warm and greedy, the warmth of his mouth thrumming a current from her head to her toes, pooling liquid-fire low in her belly, and she moans into him.

"Yuck," Roland complains with a grimace on his face.

Reality jars their lips apart with a wet smack. Regina's cheeks flush and Robin chuckles.

"Sorry, my boy," he replies, his palms gingerly falling out of her hair, coasting down her arms to squeeze her hands and release. He steps away from her for just a second (even though that second feels like eons), bends to pick up his son and then Robin's back to touching her again. Only this time, Robin just holds her and Roland in his arms, caressing the small her back and touching their foreheads together so he can brush the tip of his nose against hers.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he breathes, breath feathering across her jaw.

And she whimpers, voice cracking, "I thought you were d–dead, I thought…"

"It's alright," he soothes, his stubble coarse but familiar and calming against her cheek. "I'm alive. You're alive. I've got you."

"I missed you."

"And I you." She leans into his touch, her belly pressing into his stomach.

"How's…?" His palm curves gently over the rounded bump between them, rubbing and rubbing until she laces their fingers together and holds their hands in place.

_How is she?_

She's a jumble of emotions, wet eyes, blurry vision, a swirl of magic and an active child making their presence acutely known within their mother's womb. This isn't the best she's felt, but it's also not the worst.

"We've been better," she smiles. "But we're both fine."

It's then that their audience finally makes themselves known with the clearing of a throat and a slight disagreement.

"Actually, she isn't," David reveals, holding onto Snow as her eyes well with tears and she smiles so wide her cheeks look like they might crack. Everyone else seems to have disappeared (or gone inside in search of the evening meal and libations–her stomach rumbles and her mouth salivates just at the thought of food). "She needs to be checked out by Doc. She slept most of the way here."

And it's the right thing to say, she does need to see Doc, she and the baby need to be examined, but all of a sudden Regina remembers that David never told her Robin _was _alive. She's thought he was dead for weeks while she rotted away in that cell, while Zelena and Nottingham taunted her, while she heard the crone's cackling in her nightmares and tossed and turned because of a prophecy about the baby she's carrying, while she dreamt of Jakan throwing a dagger and Much dying in her arms and an arrow shooting into Robin's flesh before he fell over the castle wall. For nights she's gone without sleep for fear of seeing Robin's dead eyes in her dreams, and here David knew, he _knew_ Robin was alive and he never told her.

"You," she snaps, sharply, her eyes clouding over. "You didn't you tell me Robin was alive."

"What?" Robin questions, but he's ignored.

"I tried to tell you," David smiles, "That was what I'd been trying _to_ tell you before you jumped off the horse. You were just too stubborn to listen."

(Robin's fingers press into her side in a reassuring squeeze that seems to say, _I'm here now. We're here now._)

He did. He did try to tell her. But she'll be damned if she relents. They may be friendly, they may be family, he may be _her_ idiot, but she's still the Queen, and he's, well, he's still Charming.

"No one likes a know-it-all, David," Regina quips; David guffaws, and then she's resting her head upon Robin's shoulder for the first time in weeks.

"I'm right, and you know it."

"David told me you've fainted three times now," Snow cuts in.

Regina purses her lips. _Tattletale_, she thinks.

"You need to eat something, Regina. Rest," David adds. And are they tag-teaming her now?

"I slept the entire way here." Now she's just being ornery.

"Being _unconscious_ doesn't count," David retorts.

"Well, I believe that settles it then, yeah?" Robin finally speaks up, letting Roland slide down his side until his boots touch the ground.

"Settles what?" Regina scoffs, crossing her arms, but he doesn't answer with words, instead he scoops her up, one arm under her legs while the other supports her back. She gasps along with Snow, who shouts _Robin_–_your shoulder!_, surprised, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I'm alright, Snow," he replies, and he is, better than fine. He grins, looking at Regina who smiles back, and says quietly, "This I can do."

"Robin of Locksley, put me down. Right this instant." She tries very hard to not let her smile get any bigger than it already is.

"Apologies, love. But I'm afraid, I cannot oblige. Not now, not ever. Never again."

Of course, he isn't being literal, but the sentiment is there–an unspoken promise glistening in the reflection of his love-filled eyes, eyes she trusts with both her own life and the one she cradles for them both.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the OUAT universe.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Thank you so much for you patience, and for those of you who've sent messages about wanting more of this story. As you all know, life gets busy, things happen, and all of a sudden a month hiatus turns into nine months, and for that all I can offer is an apology and this chapter. I hope you all like it. I decided that my birthday present to myself today was going to be a new chapter for all of you. **

**Previously in TIB**: Regina and Will escape from Mortianna and Nottingham's dungeon. They get lost in the woods but singe major monkey tail, even burn a few to a crisp. David shows up like a knight on a white horse since Robin can't because he was still healing from almost dying from falling over the castle wall after his asshole brother, Andrew/Nottingham, shot him with an arrow. David takes Regina home, she reunites with Robin and Roland and every gets the feels when she runs to her sweet, dimple-cheeked little knight after being gone for so long. Sweet reunion! In between that, Snow and Robin had a cute, meaningful conversation about family. And that's what happened last time. Here we pick up one month later!

And to clear up confusion, everyone knows Zelena, Mortianna and Andrew/Nottingham are working together, but they don't know why.

* * *

Regina yawns against sunlight streaming in through mosaic window panes. Prisms of color, pinprick the room like fireflies in an array of pinks, blues and emerald greens.

She's warm, at ease, as she sinks further into the mattress with a contented sigh, relishing in the comfort of Robin's naked body spooned around hers. His right leg is tucked between her thighs, wedged there as they drifted off to sleep near midnight.

She aches, pleasantly, in places that curve her lips up into a pleased smirk and have warmth flushing her cheeks as she thinks about Robin spreading her legs, devouring her, edging her closer and closer to her peak until she's careened over it, shouting his name and groping her breasts as he lit her body aflame. And then he'd done it again, with slow, long drags of his tongue from where her body had been begging to be filled by him most, to the hood of her clit, driving her mad with pleasure, until neither of them could wait any longer. Urgency gripping them, magic stripping them bare, and their breaths coming out in a _guh!_ and _ha-uhhh!_ as he'd slide himself between her legs. She'd been slick, and open, and ready, her throaty groan and his scrunched brow gateways to ecstasy.

Dried sweat clings to her like a second skin now, the aftermath of their coupling still sticky between her legs.

She'll need a bath, and the mere thought of warm water and scented oils washing over her skin makes her moan. Stretching into the sun's beams, her muscles sigh in relief and she smiles softly, before craning her neck to look behind her at Robin's still sleeping form. His arm is snugly wrapped around her middle, his hand curved lax over her belly, holding her against him protectively; it makes her heart swell, makes her next breath catch in her throat, and tears well in her eyes.

Turning slowly in his embrace, she faces him, her rounded stomach pressed against his flat, muscular one as he shifts in sleep. His hand falls over her lower back and an easy grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. Blearily, she follows the bridge of his nose to the pink scar above his lip They match, she thinks, the two of them, even though she wishes they didn't. Wishes there wasn't a reason for him to have such a scar in the first place. Her vision rests there on his marred skin – a souvenir from his fall over the parapet – and lifting her pointer finger, she gently brushes around the edges.

His nose twitches; she breathes.

Tender to the touch it seems, but it's no longer an angry red. Stitches gone, skin sealed. It no longer looks how Roland had described it.

_"And Papa had a cut here!" He pointed at his lip. "And we baked apple pie and it was good but I liked yours better and Granny showed me how to plant the seeds and Princess Snow showed me how to water them. And Papa can we show Regina the apple seeds? Can we show Regina my horse!"_

She'd missed so much while she'd been *gone*. Missed so much of him, of Roland, of his curiosity and the kind of wonderment only a child's eyes can behold. He reminds her so much of Henry when he was little, of his inquisitiveness, his gentleness, kindness, the way he checks in on the other children in the castle, makes sure no one is left out in their games of hide and seek, or pebbles and stone.

She loves him. She can say that now – that she loves him. It doesn't coil guilt in her belly like it used to, doesn't make her feel like the worst mother in the world. Though, doubt and fear still bubble up like blisters, stinging and burning parts of her soul still dreading *what if*s and failures. Robin's words are like an anchor then, steady and sure, an arrow pointing toward truth and hope. Annoying, that. Hope. He's been spending too much time with Snow and David, fucking captains of the Hope Brigade. The hope gets her through (even more annoying); it bloomed into a fierce protectiveness, the desperate need to keep Roland close, to make sure he's safe and sound.

To do best by him like she tried to do by Henry.

It's that desperation that keeps her from telling her brave little knight the truth (she wasn't just _gone_), that made her talk to Robin about what truth they'd tell the curious child.

_She was taken by Mortianna and Nottingham. The Wicked Witch was involved, but she's safe now, back where she belongs. With them._ (But not quite. Not yet. She thinks of Henry.)

Her heart pangs at the time lost, the hopes and wishes unfulfilled as her fingers coast the edge of Robin's shoulder next. She lazily traces patterns over his skin (he needs a bath as well), drinking each inch of him in, memorizing each freckle and long healed wounds near new scars from battle before her eyes flit to his face again.

"Mm'morning."

Busted. Blush bleeds a dull shade of crimson onto the apples of her cheeks, and she murmurs back her own bashful _Morning_.

"Whatcha doing?" he croaks, clears his throat, his hand beginning to rub up and down her spine. Up and down, up and down, soothing passes over her skin that seep into her soul.

"Memorizing you like this," she says, mapping the curves of his lashes as they open and close, brushing against his cheeks, age lines crinkled around his eyes and the relaxed draw of his brow.

"Mmm, and what do you see, milady?"

She pauses. Stops. Skates her palm up between them to rest over his heart, feeling the rise and fall in the steady rhythm of oxygen filling his lungs and life going on as his breath brushes against the hair around her face. His heart beats beneath her touch, and she stays there for a moment, her thumb drawing small circles directly over it, up and around, up and around, keeping time with the comforting *ba-bom ba-bom* beneath her palm.

She sketches her fingers across his body, etching him into her soul.

It's strange really. She spent years snuffing out the vibrant glow of hearts and turning them to ash in her grip, and yet here she is. Hoping, begging that this heart – _his_ heart – will stay just where it is.

Untouched, without mark or pain, beating steadily, reassuringly.

_Ba-bom. Ba-bom._

The last time she felt like this was with Daniel, before she knew hearts could be ripped from chests, before love was squeezed into dust.

Blood pulses through her veins, her head pounds, and she doesn't move her hand, plants palm to skin. A tether to Robin.

She cannot lose him, refuses to lose him (feels his life beneath the anchor of her palm). The very thought of it has her vision blurring, her throat constricting.

_Love is weakness, my foolish girl._ But love isn't weakness, it heals; it's better. This is supposed to be better. This is supposed to be _right_. She's been good; she's trying to be good; and it isn't enough. It's never enough.

Nottingham nearly killed him, and Zelena's still out there scheming and Mortianna and her prophecies are still looming over her head and how is she going to get back to Henry how is any of this going to work out what is she going to do about herfuckingsister and why did Mother hate her so much whatdidsheeverdotoher – her heart's beating really fast, she can hear it her ears, oh god, she can't, she can't it's what if—

"Hey, hey, R'gina. Breathe." Robin pushes her hair away from her face, then moves his hand down between them.

He links their fingers together; her lungs fill with air.

"That's it," he says, kissing her brow, holding their hands over his heart. "Just breathe, love."

An ache knocks behind her sternum, heat flushes her cheeks. She swallows, thick saliva running down her throat.

She breathes. Slower. Steadier. She breathes.

Her heart pounds erratically; her hands tremble, and it must be enough to still worry him. He sits up, blinks away the last dredges of sleep and inhales sharply.

So does she. Shaky this time.

"Oh Regina." His hands pull her up with him, gathering her into his arms so her head rests against his chest.

She shivers, gooseflesh puckers her skin, but it's not the brisk morning air hanging low in their bedroom. He leans forward and grabs the edge of the fur gathered at their waists, pulls it up, tucks it around her shoulders.

She breathes; Robin settles them back.

_Ba-bom. Ba-bom_. She listens.

"What is it, love?" His voice rumbles against her ear as he brings her hand up to his lips, Kisses brushes the rise of her knuckles, and then he holds her hand to his chest again, his thumb caressing her cheek.

_Ba-bom. Ba-bom._

His other hand moves to her arm, rubbing the length of it beneath the covers. She sniffs. A lone tear escapes the corner of her eye, over the ridge of her nose, dripping off the tip and catching on his forearm.

She stares down at the salty droplet on his skin and his question goes unanswered.

He stays quiet. And all at once she's thankful for how patient he is with her, how much he challenges her but also waits when he knows she needs time. She's lucky. And she doesn't deserve to be.

A few more silent minutes pass between them, but the silence is filled with so much more than quiet. She can feel it, in the way he holds her, in the way his heart continues to sound _ba-bom. Ba-bom. Ba-bom._ In the way he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, weaves his fingers into her hair, massaging her nape, easing out tension with each gentle scratch of his fingers against her scalp.

He's comforting her, letting her know he's there, supporting her in ways that go beyond promises and vows neither of them need to make.

They already know their truth.

"Just stay here. Like this," she finally says, sliding her hand across his chest and wrapping her arm around him, hugging him closer.

As close as she can get.

"I'm here," Robin mutters, breath hot at the crown of her head. He gives her a squeeze, the hard point of his chin nudging her hair. "Right here. Not going anywhere, love."

Tears sting her eyes (damn him); she nods, sinking deeper into his hold.

He's not. She won't let him. She'd go to hell and back for this man, for their children, the family she's slowly realized she's had for some time now.

But she also knows, "You can't promise that."

"What?" His fingers pause at the nape of her neck, massage there, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder.

She moves to sit, the fur pooling at her waist again until Robin sits up as well and drapes it over her shoulders, closing it around her middle.

He's something. Her thief. Considerate, thoughtful in ways she's never been on the receiving end of before. But he's also so dreadfully optimistic (whatever does he see in her? She's the complete opposite.).

"You can't promise you're not going anywhere," she tells him, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "We don't know what's going to happen."

"No, I suppose we don't," he sighs, swooping his hand up to gather her hair over her shoulder, gently combing his fingers through it, sleep-mussed knots disappearing with each gentle drag of his nails against her scalp. "But I can promise I won't go without a fight."

And he won't. He'll not be parted from Roland, or her, or their child growing in her belly if he can help it. She knows this. She's said the same silent vow. But… "She wants the baby. Zelena wants her, and I…"

"I know. Regina, I know, but I swear to you," his hand stills, "I'll die before she touches our baby. Or your heart."

"No. No more dying." She shakes her head. "I'd like you alive, thank you very much. Let's throw a bucket of water on the bitch and put her in the ground before she kills someone else."

And it's serious, this is serious, but he laughs, and the sound makes her laugh, and it's warm and light, and she needed that. God, she need that.

So much of life hurts.

Love knocks against her ribs, and even that hurts. The baby kicks; she rubs her stomach; and she sinks into Robin.

*She*'s running out of time.

"I want to do more," she whispers, like it's a confession, as if he doesn't already know.

"You've been back a month." Robin tenses at her back. "You're just starting to get the rest Doc ordered."

"Is that what last night was? Rest?" She grins, swirling her thumb through the hair on his chest and biting her lower lip.

"That was… foreplay to rest," he chuckles. "To the best sleep we've had for a while."

She grins, thinks about the last few weeks. He's right. She's just started feeling normal, or as normal as she can with a tiny person pressing on her bladder.

"Is that what you want to call it? *The best sleep*?"

He *hmms*, tugging her back to rest against him.

"We can't stay in bed forever, you know." She shifts in his arms to get more comfortable.

"No, we can't." He *hmms*, but he doesn't move.

"Roland will be awake soon."

"If he isn't already. He gets up too early. Before the bloody sun most days."

"His father's son," she murmurs, shifting in his arms again. He pats her shoulder, adjusts them so they're resting on their sides to make space for her belly between them. They settle there, and then Robin coasts his hand over her belly, back and forth, back and forth, rubbing his thumb near her hip.

"I won't let Zelena take our child from us, Regina." He leans his forehead against hers.

"I know. You've said." She lets out a long sigh. "It's just… We have to protect her, Robin, and I can't do that if I don't know what we're protecting her from. I need to know *what* my bat-shit-crazy sister wants."

"How close are we to finding that out?"

"We're still looking," she mutters, before he nudges the tip of his nose against hers. "Belle's been combing every book in the library, I've read every text I have that requires a heart as a main ingredient. Skimmed through every potion, every hex, every curse, but… it's not enough. I'm not doing enough. I feel so… so…"

"Helpless?"

Her shoulders heave, her breath shakes. "Useless."

"You, my dear, are _not_ useless. Will still won't stop talking about your fireballs and scorched monkey flesh."

She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I just want to find out *why* my sister wants our child and my heart. I need to do more."

"We are doing more. You're currently resting, which our baby needs. You heard Doc. You can't keep pushing yourself."

"And what are you doing?" She says "yes you" to his affronted _Me_?

"Making sure the patient follows the healer's orders. And—" He nuzzles his face into her hair, where shoulder meets neck, trailing chaste kisses there before capturing her lips between his. "I'm seeing to the Queen's needs. Important business, that."

She chuckles, freely this time. "Be serious."

And he is. For a minute. He's serious.

:.:

"We have psychotic siblings who want to kill us and take everything we have, and not necessarily in that order. I take that quite seriously, my love. But… your health, the baby's health is also equally important."

And all this stress, all the late nights in the library searching for answers, trying to figure out what it is that Zelena wants, standing guard on the outer walls, trying to find spells that'll continue to protect the castle from the bitch's flying minions is exhausting him. But him? He couldn't care less about himself at the moment, not when Regina has bags under her eyes, when she's still too thin for her sixth month of pregnancy.

He's watched as she's nearly nodded off in council meetings, and at breakfast over a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of warm milk, and at supper. She's tired all the time, sore from head to foot, and grumpier as the days drag on as they continue fighting back her sister and his fucking brother.

And he knows it's partly due to carrying his child, he knows the strain that puts on her body, but that's not solely to blame.

She's pushing herself, too much, and two days ago he finally got her to rest, finally got her to stay in bed with him for longer hours, to sleep and be lazy for just a moment, but even that turned into midnight kisses and a roaming of hands that had Regina gasping into his mouth and keening under his tongue.

He'd missed her. The feel of her, of being inside her, of tasting her, hearing her. But he's missed her being safe more, of being with family. He'd meant for last night to be just about her, about resting, about her pleasure, but when a Queen wants what she wants… and when she's carrying your child, well… he can't complain about her insatiable appetite for *him*.

Though, guilt does lick at his insides. Because on top of everything else, he still hasn't figured out what his brother thinks there is to gain from kidnapping Regina (what part is Andrew playing in all this?), and they're still trying to find a way back to Regina's son, to Henry. And, he's yet to tell her about the prophecy, hasn't known the time or place to do it.

She doesn't need one more thing weighing heavy on her already burdened shoulders. He will tell her, eventually. Just not today. They need more time, she needs more time.

Less stress. Doc's words ring in his ears. More time.

And they're running out of it.

:.:

Another week ticks by without answers to Regina's (and subsequently everyone's) great annoyance. She's loud, spits sharp insults, has the shortest of fuses. And the longer they go without answers, the more desperate she becomes for them. She knows she's being horrible, is moody, and unpleasant, but she won't take all the blame for that. Robin. She gets to partly blame Robin (can't blame the baby, that makes her feel worse).

She's fat, and tired, and ornery, and God this is awful, pregnancy is so godawful. Is this what Emma felt like? A fireball of emotions ready to explode at any given moment?

Regina pinches the bridge of her nose and kneads a cramp in her side. Robin, Snow, David, Granny, and Leroy are all seated in their chairs around the round table. This was supposed to be a quick council meeting, but David's been rambling about her sister, and all Regina wants to do is tell everyone her plan so she can go pee, and nap, maybe eat something first, and then pee, and then nap.

Did she mention, pregnancy is godawful?

The baby kicks her in what feels like a vital organ, and her patience wanes thinner than it already is. She finally has a plan and David won't shut up. She's gonna pee her pants if he doesn't fucking shut up.

"Ever since we got back here, Zelena has been unpredictable." (No shit, she thinks.) David slams his fist down on the round table. "She attacked the front gate three nights ago; Frederick has a broken arm. We're running out of grain, and the people are scared."

"With all due respect, your majesty," Leroy says. "They've been scared for months. I vote we make a run to Edgewood. We need supplies." Right. Because that's a great idea. Send dwarves with their pickaxes and peasants with their pitchforks beyond the castle wall, outside the shield protecting them from Zelena's beasts. Because _that_ makes perfect sense.

"No, we need everyone here, Leroy." Snow shakes her head, massaging her left temple. "We can't guarantee anyone's safety outside the castle walls."

At least someone makes sense, Regina thinks, tracing circles around her navel with the pad of her thumb. She clears her throat, drawing the attention of her comrades. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but for once, I agree with Snow."

Snow's eyebrows inch toward her hairline. "Thanks, I guess," she says, shock clear in her voice.

And now the part of her plan that Regina knows none of them are going to like. "You can't leave the castle, but, not everyone can stay here." She looks to Belle for support as she continues with, "Obviously, my _sister_..." (that word tastes bitter in her mouth) "... is a problem. I need to know what she's planning. To find a way to be one step ahead of her. And Belle and I believe we've exhausted our resources here."

"Right," Belle says, leaning forward, thumbing the edge of one of her books. "We've checked every source we have available, and while the library here is extensive—"

"You're not going to offend anyone by telling us it's crap, Belle. Spit it out," Regina tells her.

"It's not crap, it just... It doesn't cover a majority of the dark arts."

David grins. He actually grins, and Regina's fingers itch to smack the smirky look off his face. "I find that hard to believe," he says, leaning over the table. "Considering Regina was the Evil Queen for several years."

"I wasn't always the Evil Queen, Charming." She purses her lips; Robin scowls. "Just as you weren't always a prince. Though, once a shepherd, always a shepherd, I know you still like to roll in the fields with the sheep," she taunts, suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

He and Snow roll their eyes in tandem, and then David turns his attention to Belle, asking her, "What are you proposing?"

"We need to go to the Dark Fortress." Belle clears her throat, thumbs the edge of her book again. She's nervous; Regina can tell she's nervous. She's spent a lot of time getting to know her over the last several months. The young woman is quiet but brave, not meek or mild by any means. She picks her battles, which Regina can appreciate. It's Rumple – it must be. Belle must be thinking about the imp. "I know it's not the safest idea given what happened the last time I was there, but it's the only other idea we have."

And Snow says what Belle doesn't, "Rumplestiltskin. You think he'll have the answers?"

"Yes. There's a book that deals specifically with…" Regina pauses, protectively folds her arms over the rise of her stomach and rubs where her daughter is hiccuping in her womb. "Well, you'd be horrified by how many spells require a baby's as the main ingredient."

"Oh…" David gulps. Snow pats his hand, then squeezes.

"Yes, '_oh_,'" Regina repeats.

Honestly, does she have to spell everything out?

"You know what you're looking for?" Snow asks Belle, and she nods. "Then it's settled. We'll leave for the Dark Fortress in two days. Granny, we'll need provisions–"

Regina shakes her head, interrupts, "In the morning. We'll leave in the morning," and pushes herself up so she's sitting as upright as possible, steeling herself for resistance. Her makeup is thick today, dark, contouring her cheekbones, accenting her eyes in pitch and a smoky shade of gray. She's playing a familiar charade, one of masks and armour.

"Regina..." Snow speaks before Robin can, but Regina sees him tense out of the corner of her eye. "You're not coming."

Oh the sweet girl, she really believes that's true. Regina chuckles. "I am." She sits straighter, smooths her dress over the curve of her belly, then stops. Puts her hands on the table instead. All they see is her belly – a huge bullseye that shouts I'M WEAK LEAVE ME BEHIND. She needs to not touch her belly. She needs them to understand why she has to do this.

"Regina…" Robin tries. But she won't let him. Of all people, he has to understand (that's not fair, and she knows it).

"This is between me and my sister. She wants *my* heart. *My* daughter." (That isn't fair either, but she's so busy trying to make her point, she misses Robin frown.) "I won't stand idle by while you go searching for answers, and I'm left here twiddling my thumbs."

"Aren't you supposed to be on bed rest, sister?" Leroy points out.

"He's right, Regina. Doc said you needed rest," Snow says, and they're all ganging up on her now.

"I'm sorry, love," Robin adds, reaching out to rest his hand over hers. He rubs his thumb over the rise of her knuckles, a gesture that usually soothes, calms, but she doesn't want to be calm right now. They're treating her like a child, and to be fair, she isn't helping her case any by digging her heels into the ground, she needs to explain herself. "... but this time, I have to agree with Snow on this one. We only just got you back."

Even Granny can't resist speaking her mind. "Girl, it'll take a full lunation for them to travel there and back. You know it isn't wise for you to travel that long."

Are they all really that blind?

"I'm the only one with magic." Regina slips her hand out from under Robin's and settles back into her chair. This isn't up for debate. "Stay here, or come along with me, but I'm going."

"You're being stubborn," Snow scoffs.

"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, don't you think, Snow?" Regina snaps back.

Snow scowls, angles her head to the side, and says, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," raising her eyebrows to challenge Regina.

Regina sighs. This is ridiculous. "Out of all of us, I'm the only one that *has* to go. What're you going to do if you need magic? If you need a spell broken or a protection charm cast? What if you're attacked?"

"Precisely, our point." Robin finds her hand again, rubs his thumb over the rise of her knuckles, and she let's him. "What if we're attacked? You and Will were lucky on the road. But even then, you needed help. You can't keep pushing yourself."

"Robin… this isn't an in-and-out-mission," she tries to get him to understand. "You're not sneaking into a castle or robbing a royal at the Troll Bridge. Bows and arrows won't work against Rumplestiltskin's magical boobytraps, and they certainly won't stop Zelena from killing you with a flick of her ugly green wrist."

"Blue. She could—"

She cuts David off. "Absolutely fucking not." There's no need to explain that one, they know her aversion to the Blue Fairy. That's not up for discussion.

"What about Tinker Bell?" Robin suggests.

"Pixie dust and fairy magic won't stop my wicked sister if she hexes you."

"It froze you when we needed it," David says, cocky and smirky again, and God how she wants to wipe that look off his stupid. Smug. Face.

"That one time was a fluke. I was blinded by rage, unprepared. Zelena won't make that mistake. She's insane, but she's *organized*."

Snow scoffs. "That's a nice way of putting it."

"Tink isn't coming," Regina continues. "I want her to stay here with Granny and Roland."

"Hey now, my bones may be old, but they're not brittle," Granny says. "I'm plenty fine watching the cub on my own."

"Of course you are, Granny, I know you're all bite and coarse fur when you need to be. But I'm not leaving you here to run the entire castle alone while we're gone. Someone needs to help make sure this place is still standing, and I'm not leaving that job to the dwarves."

"And what's the _Evil Queen's_ problem with dwarves?" Leroy snorts.

"You hatched from eggs," she deadpans.

"And?" He gestures with his shoulders.

"Did I need another reason?"

Robin sighs, "You're going either way, aren't you?"

With an uncommon public display of affection, she grasps his hand on top of the table.

"I can't afford to wait a month for you to return with news from Rumple. We…" She places her hand over her stomach, looks pleadingly into Robin's eyes. They're so blue, so clear, and if she can just get him to understand why she needs to do this, maybe it really will all be okay. "... can't afford to wait. Zelena wants our daughter, Robin. She wants our daughter and my heart and I don't know why. And truthfully, I don't care why, but I do need to know how to stop that bitch before anyone else we love dies." She thinks of Much; she's always thinking of Much, what he did for her, for them. She won't let anyone else die because of her. "I need to know how to protect our baby."

Robin sighs, his shoulders deflating before he drags a hand over his tired eyes. She knows she has him before he speaks: "Then I suppose, we'll have to find out together."

Relief washes over her, and she takes a deep breath.

"Fine. But if you're going, we're all going," Snow says, pushing her chair back from the table, as if that's settled, as if that's final.

Regina pushes back her chair as well, stands to meet Snow's height, and firmly tells her, "No. Absolutely not."

From the outside, the two of them look ridiculous. Regina standing with her hands at her back, supporting her burgeoning belly, her stomach obvious at this stage of her pregnancy. She's wearing shorter heels than she usually does, and they bring her eye-level to Snow, their gazes meeting in equal ferocity.

They're stubborn, and Regina knows exactly where Snow gets this from, but she's too _stubborn_ to admit it comes from her. _Like mother, like daughter_ echoes through her ears and she feels a quickening in her womb, more than slight flutterings now – somersaults, and the roomba, and kickboxing lessons in such a small space that it has Regina holding back a wince and remembering that she really, really has to pee.

"We're not letting you go alone, Regina. When are you going to realize, we're family, and that means we do things together?" Snow glares even harder.

Regina recognizes that look in her eyes, knows that look. It's the same one Snow used when she was a child who knew she could get her way, the same one she's seen countless times over the last year, and the same one that looks her in the face every time she stands in front of her vanity.

_Stubbornness_. Thine name is Regina Mills and Snow White.

"Fine," Regina finally bites, and Snow retorts with her own clipped Fine as well.

Everyone else seems to sense that this is the end of the discussion; the Queen and the Princess have decided for them how this is all going to go. No room for argument. They're going to find Rumplestiltskin, and a way to defeat Zelena, and they're going to find a way to get back home to Storybrooke.

Regina dismisses everyone to make preparations for their journey, waves them off, but she asks Snow to wait.

"I'll meet you in our chambers in a minute," Snow says to David, giving him a quick peck on the lips. It's tame, even for them, but it still makes Regina huff in annoyance.

David leaves, and the door closes behind him.

And that's when Regina finally asks: "When are you going to tell him?"

"I— " Shock bleeds onto the apples of Snow's cheeks, and her mouth gapes open. Regina chuckles, taking a little pleasure in the fact that she's caught her off guard. Snow composes herself and says, "He'll only worry."

She's not denying it then. Regina was right.

"For a reason," Regina answers, cocking her head to the side. "That shepherd loves you so much I can practically see the hearts beating in his pupils."

Snow snorts. "You cannot." And then she's fidgeting with the hem of her tunic, her voice nervous when she says, "This is nice. It's been a long time since things between us were… easy."

She's deflecting, but it makes a smirk tug at the corner of Regina's mouth so she lets her. For now anyway. Like mother, like daughter.

"Things have never been easy between us, Snow."

"Maybe. But… I'm just saying this is nice. I missed you, missed having family around."

"You? You've always had family around." Regina swallows a growing lump in her throat. She's thinking of Emma, and Henry, but instead she offers, "You had David. You *have* David.

"I know. I don't mean that I didn't before. I just…" Snow's eyes water, and she sniffles. Oh dear God. Is she going to cry? When did this become a conversation worth crying over? Regina can't deal with anyone else's emotions but her own right now. "You were my family… before. And then you weren't, and then Emma was born, and then she was gone and then we got her back but you were still—"

"The Evil Queen," Regina says, uncrossing her arms, and sighs.

(She regrets asking Snow to stay back. Why did she think this would be a good idea? Now they're talking about feelings, and emotions, and things Regina normally hidden, private, tucked far away from the ears of others. Especially from the ears of Snow White and her bleeding heart.)

"No, I… Regina, I was so angry with you, but I've realized it's because I missed you. The way things used to be. I just wanted my friend back and it was easier to hate you than to accept that this—" Snow waves her arm around them, tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill out. "This is all my fault."

Regina scoffs, and maybe that was the wrong reaction, but her list of mistakes and remorse is miles long. She's spent decades dedicated to vengeance and only a handful of months trying to be better. She will spend the rest of her life trying to atone for her sins (and it'll never be enough), but for Snow to think that this is her fault, well, that's just idiotic. Possibly the most idiotic thing to ever ruminate inside her precious hope-filled head.

"Don't be ridiculous, you didn't cast the curse," Regina says, her fingers itching to... comfort? Hormones. She's blaming this swelling urge to soothe away the tears forming in Snow's eyes on hormones. "You didn't get us into this mess. That was me. _I_ did this to us."

"No, if i hadn't told your mother about you and Daniel, none of this would have happened," Snow tells her adamantly, and they could do this tete-et-tete for hours, but Regina still really has to pee. "Things would be different. We might not be… Emma and Henry never would have been taken away from us."

"Snow, chances are Henry and Emma never would have been born if things hadn't played out the way they did," Regina says, crossing her legs and finding her balance. She rubs under her belly and breathes through her nose.

"But Daniel—"

"Daniel wasn't your fault." Regina shakes her head. She may have blamed Snow in the past, but she knows now it wasn't her fault. "It was my mother. She sealed my fate, and yours."

"Things could've been different."

"You're right. They could have been worse."

"Worse than you hating me?"

She still doesn't get it, so Regina, in a moment of hormone-induced compassion, tentatively reaches out and touches her shoulder, rubs up once, and then down. "Yes, but I don't hate you, dear."

"You don't?" Snow looks up, meets Regina gaze, tears dripping off her chin, and there's that need to soothe again, a new ache to reassure.

"No, you idiot." Regina smiles, grasping Snow's chin with her thumb and forefinger. "I find your usual hopefulness annoyingly frustrating, but I don't hate you."

Snow's chin wobbles, her voice wet when she replies, "But you didn't tell me you were pregnant."

Regina sighs. "Because I quite like my ability to hear and breathe without shrieking and coddling following me from dawn to dusk. If I'd told you I was pregnant in the beginning, you would have been unbearable."

"I wouldn't have," Snow says, sniffing again and jutting her chin out. It reminds Regina of the time Henry fell off his bike when he was five years old, when she'd scooped him up off the ground and kissed his scraped knee and said they were done learning how to ride a bike for the day. He'd looked at her the way Snow is now, chin jutting out, cheeks red from crying. _I'm not ready to go inside, Mommy. I want to try again_, Henry had said.

"You would have, and I wasn't ready for it, for the same reason I wasn't ready to accept that I was pregnant," Regina whispers, catching a stray tear on Snow's cheek and then squeezing her arm and taking a step back. That's enough of that.

"Because of Henry?" Snow asks, even though she already knows. It's likely the same reason Snow hasn't told David her own secret yet. Because of Emma.

Regina nods, and then says, "But y'know what helped? You, Robin. Telling Robin helped." And the next thing she says draws Snow gaze back up to her own. "You need to tell David? But before you do, tell me when you're going to. I need to prepare myself for the inevitable vomit-inducing love fest."

Snow laughs, and so does Regina.

"I still can't believe you knew I was pregnant," Snow says, scratching the back of her neck and smiling. "No one else has said anything."

"Granny and Ruby probably know." Regina taps the tip of her nose and shifts her weight between her feet, saying, "It's a wolf thing."

Snow nods her head once, and then Regina sees a glimmer of something in her eyes. "You know, wolves also have really good hearing, and I heard from Ruby that someone was up rather late last night. What happened to bed rest?"

Regina's eyes go wide, she tenses, and to her great mortification, she pees a little, caught off guard by Snow's bluntness.

She's going to kill Ruby. And then Snow. And maybe Robin. But first she's going to visit the facility before she embarrasses herself further.

Regina's scooping up gravy with a forkful of roasted pheasant at supper, when Snow tells David mid-bite about her secret – their secret. He practically chokes on his mouthful of potatoes and parsnips, Snow patting him on the back and offering him his cup of mead. He takes it gladly, sips and sips and sips until his throat is clear and he can breath again. And then Regina watches as he mouths a question she can't quite make out but knows is about Snow being pregnant. She smiles, chuckles softly at the bemused look on his face, and then her amusement quickly turns into a grimace as David basically sucks face with his wife at the dinner table.


End file.
